Crescent City Connection

her. She absolutely hadn’t seen it coming. If someone had shown her a video of it taken in the future, she still wouldn’t have believed it.
    Lovelace couldn’t help noticing that Brenna was soft and smelled good, felt kind of the way a mother should feel, only Lovelace wouldn’t know because Jacqueline hadn’t really been around that much.
    But she knew perfectly well there was nothing maternal about what was happening. She pried herself away, freed herself of Brenna’s lips anyway, but not Brenna’s hands.
    Brenna’s hair brushed Lovelace’s neck and she felt Brenna’s breath close to her ear. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Just let it happen. Your job is fine. Charles won’t know, and he’s impotent, anyway. He’d just be happy you were making me happy. Come on, let’s go upstairs. Come on, baby.”
    “No!” Lovelace sounded like a baby, even to herself.
    Brenna broke away and looked at her, must have seen the fear and confusion in her face.
    She turned hot-pink, obviously deeply embarrassed. But the embarrassment passed with the flush, giving way to a fine fury. “No? What do you mean no? You’re the little seducer. Not me. Don’t try to make this my doing.”
    “I… what?”
    “That hair, for openers. As soon as you had the job, you went back to looking like your normal self. You might as well have broadcast, ‘Baby dyke, looking to get laid. Hey, any takers? Here I am.’ Charles and I laughed about it.”
    Lovelace was so astounded she didn’t say a word. Later it occurred to her that her mouth may actually have been hanging open.
    “And I’m so beautiful and I’m so fabulous. And you were in a ‘relationship’ with ‘a friend.’ No gender. Just a friend, to whom you always referred as ‘the other person.’ I’ve been around a long time, baby, and I know a dyke when I see one.”
    Lovelace didn’t answer. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She looked around wildly for her purse, grabbed it, and made a quick, graceless exit.
    She was lying on the sofa, hands crossed over her heart, staring at the ceiling when Isaac came in.
    Seeing her, he started shaking his head, grasping instantly that something was badly wrong. He drew a question mark in the air.
    She sat up. “You get right to the point.”
    He nodded and gave her the reverse wave that means “come on.”
    “Oh, Isaac, I’m such a fuckup. I loved this job.”
    He kept waving backward ever more frantically.
    “Brenna Royce made a pass at me.”
    He wrinkled his face inquisitively, obviously meaning,
What the hell are you talking about?
    Lovelace thought he’d learned to communicate amazingly well without speaking. “She said I was the one seducing her, but I had no idea, I swear. I told her she’s beautiful and fabulous because she is, but I had no idea she’s a lesbian! She said she thought I am because I cut my hair.”
    He sat down and gave the backward wave again, making Lovelace tell the story exactly as it had happened, retelling everything Brenna said and everything Lovelace said.
    When she had finished, he came to her and hugged her and said, “It’s okay, honey. You couldn’t have known it was going to happen. She was trying to convince herself, that’s all. She got it into her head you were available, and then she interpreted data any way she wanted to. She told you it was your fault because she feels bad—she’s embarrassed. But it wasn’t your fault. She’ll cool down and realize that. Do you want to go back? I’ll bet you can.”
    Lovelace hugged back and let him rub her back, in shock, but not wanting to mention it for fear he’d notice he was talking and stop. He was talking and he was hugging—the same Isaac who’d so recently recoiled from her.
    When he was finished, she stepped back, looked him in the eye, and rather idiotically told him what he’d done. “Isaac, you hugged me! You spoke to me. I don’t believe what just happened. You must really care about me.”
    She wasn’t really sure that was the case. But because she needed the human connection, she pulled him close and hugged him again. She could feel the fastidious contraction of his body; the moment was over.
    * * *
    That second time, The Monk would have given anything to wiggle away. Hugging was bad enough, but it was a lot worse when someone else initiated it. He could feel their need. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s need.
    And that was without even considering the danger of germ