Janice sipped her punch and nodded. "You are welcome."
Eckstein listened, looking from one of them, to the other as the exchange took place in the rigidly disciplinary code of conversation between unfamiliar European senior and junior academe, and he relaxed somewhat, recovering at least a facade of his bluff manner. "Wendy graduated well up in her class, you know."
"Indeed? Did you not contemplate graduate work, Ms. Nelson."
"I was unable to for financial reasons…"
"Her father's estate was depleted, Doctor Wycliffe. It was part of his will that she go to the Sorbonne – he was educated in France – and it was also part of it that she return to the United States upon completion of her education. We actually managed to do a little better than the will required. She went to common school in Paris, then to the Sorbonne, so her father's wishes were more than fulfilled. He was Thurgood Nelson, the violinist, and you might have heard of him…"
"I mean no disrespect of your brother-in-law or Ms. Nelson's father in that I haven't. I spent many years out of the United States, and I have found myself deficient in many respects insofar as musical developments in the United States are…"
"You know everything anyone needs to!" Wendy blurted, then flushed with confusion and looked down at the floor, sipping her cup again.
Janice fought the sympathetic blush which rose to her cheeks, and began moving away from them; she'd had all she could take. "It was a pleasure speaking with you again, Professor Eckstein. And I wish you every success while you are here, Ms. Nelson. If I may be of assistance in your professional career, please call upon me." Wendy stuck her hand out and continued holding it out, and Janice had no option but to shake it briefly. Then Wendy's hand was gripping hers firmly with a tight pressure, the wide, shining blue eyes looking up into hers, and she felt herself melting inside. Despite herself she felt the flush rising to her cheeks. It was finally over and Wendy released her hand, murmuring a farewell with her eyes downcast and her face almost crimson. Professor Eckstein was oblivious to it, and he shook Janice's hand enthusiastically and rattled a rambling farewell.
Janice analyzed her reactions as she walked toward the ladies' room. She had been deliberately cold and caustic toward the girl, even though she was strikingly beautiful and the interest had been plain and straightforward in her eyes. It was because she was afraid. This was one woman who could easily come to mean too much to her; an affair with her wouldn't be the light, easy, and casual relationship she'd had with other, and it would hurt too deeply if something happened. It had been heaven with Lisa, and it had been hell when it ended. It was not a path she would follow again – it was the path to insanity and death.
The ladies' room was almost empty, and she went to one of the sinks and splashed cold water on her face.
"Are you going to meet her tonight?"
Janice glanced up and looked at Christina's face. Her expression was a blend of sorrow, anger, and jealousy. She'd noticed, then. "What are you talking about, Christina?" Janice asked quietly, reaching for one of the cotton towels and daubing her face with it.
"You know what I'm talking about. Are you?"
Janice sighed and shook her head, her face buried in the towel. "No. No, I'm not, Christina."
"Why?"
She took the towel away from her face and looked at Christina's face in the mirror as she leaned forward to daub the water from the edges of her hair. "Because I'm not going to, that's why. Because she's a child. Because I'm afraid of getting hurt. Because… oh, leave me alone, Christina – I'm not going to."
Christina sighed and leaned against the adjacent sink, putting her hand on Janice's shoulder. "You might not tonight, baby, but sooner or later you will. And I won't blame you for it. If there's ever been two people who go together, it's you two. You're the most beautiful… well, you know what you are baby, and she's a little doll – a living, breathing doll. And you're both musicians. I don't give a shit what you say about musicians being just like anyone else, but you're both musicians and anyone can tell it from looking at you. And she felt like falling down in front of you and kissing your shoes when she saw you – I could tell it from the look on her face. And you're both two beautiful people who…" Christina suddenly turned away, blinking rapidly as tears began forming behind her eyelids. "Oh, shit. Now my mascara's going to fucking run all over the fucking place."
Janice sighed and looked at her, clicking her tongue. "Christina, for God's sake…"
"No, don't say anything – don't say anything. Goddamnit, a woman who can run in here and throw water all over her face and just walk back out without anyone being able to tell the difference, and still look like a doll… Jane Perfect, that's who you are, and that kid's just like you. Fucking dogs run from me when I get up in the morning, but you two could run your fingers through your Goddamned hair and walk out, and people would want to take pictures of you. I feel like a big, bumbing shitass just looking at either of you…"
"Christina…"
She swallowed, shaking her head. "No, that's all right, Janice – I'm all right. Just give me a minute by myself, and I'll…"
"Christina, go tell your house guests you have to go somewhere tonight, and let's go to my house…"
"No, no, no, I can't do that," Christina said, shaking her head and still fighting the tears. "Perhaps some other… another time, baby. I'm so fucked up inside now that I… and I'm sorry I came in here acting like this, baby. If there's ever been two people who deserve each other, it's you and that little doll…"
"Christina, will you stop this? I've told you…"
"I heard you, and I know better. And if you don't, then you're a Goddamned fool, Janice. You'll be a fucking fool if you don't. Now go ahead and leave before I break down and make a bigger ass of myself than I have already."
"Are you sure, Christina?"
"I'm all right – I said I was all right."
Janice sighed and tossed the towel back on the shelf. "Very well, then. Goodnight, darling."
"Night, baby. And… please forgive me."
Janice looked at her; she had her face turned away and her lips pressed together tightly, trying to control herself. She touched Christina's shoulder with a light, gentle pressure of her fingertips, then she turned and walked away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A seething turmoil was churning within Janice as she walked across the parking lot toward her car. The beautiful, little blonde. A heaven of bliss where she needed only to reach out and grasp it, and it was tempting. There was an instinctive knowledge that this would be that rare thing, the perfectly compatible love. But the flights of ecstasy weren't worth the danger. The vision of a skull and crossbones lay behind that entrancing facade. The years in the sanitarium were a dark, shadowy memory filled with agony and torment. She'd never be able to live through it again.
And Christina. Why couldn't she have been more possessive and less understanding? If she'd thrown a jealous fit it would have been better. Why couldn't she have told her house guests she had to go somewhere? The aching, burning frustration needed an outlet. She needed Christina really needed her. And meanwhile Christina was wandering off in a cloud of self pity and a self-imposed burden of understanding. So home to the silent, empty house, distant memories of happiness, and sleepless frustration. Celia lived in a dormitory of chattering girls, and trying to contact her was out of the question. Perhaps tomorrow.
The door of a nearby Cadillac opened as she shoved the key in the door of her car to unlock it, and she glanced up as footsteps waited in the gravel of the parking lot, approaching her. It was a woman, a tall woman, and she looked at her closer in the darkness of the parking lot. Then she recognized her; it was the tall redhead she'd seen a couple to times at the gym, the one who'd stared at her so openly.