Chapter Text
Their drive to the station is silent, heavy, terrible. Carol’s mind is spinning, and at moments she almost forgets Therese is there, too caught up in the memory of Harge gripping her arms. The cruelty of his words and hers, and the heartbreak of kissing Rindy goodbye. She feels sick with fury and grief, wondering how everything could have fallen apart so spectacularly. Especially today. Today was… lovely. Hopeful. But now…
She glances in Therese’s direction. The girl sits low in the seat, hunched, her face turned away. Earlier, when they drove out to the tree lot, she had felt Therese looking at her more than once. Had felt her eyes like a physical weight, warm and curious and nerve-wracking. She barely knows her, barely understands what she is doing, only that it feels good. It felt good, to look over her shoulder in the toy department at Frankenburg’s and throw out a shameless flirt (‘I like the hat’). It felt good to sit with her in Scotty’s and ask her questions and watch her smoke with that slightly nervous but also beguiling air of a water nymph. And it felt good, truly good, to have Therese in her home, to listen to her play the piano, to walk up behind her in a fit of daring and touch her lovely slim shoulders.
She’s never done anything like this before. Her past affairs with women were all under much more controlled circumstances. They were women her own age. Women adjacent to her social circle. Women she knew through this club or that. Women with husbands and women who, like her, viewed their brief and flaring passions as a momentary escape—a reprieve. Neither they, nor Carol, had had any illusions of it lasting beyond a few nights. It was different with Abby, of course, but only because she loved Abby, had loved her since childhood and would love her into old age. Their few months together had been more than anything before it, but even that was nothing like this.
This—what is this? All she knows is that Therese is beautiful. That she is gentle and thoughtful and innocent of everything that makes Carol’s life so painful. She’s not a member of the New York elite. She’s not the wife of one of Harge’s work associates. She’s not pretentious or falsely gay and she looks at Carol as if Carol is more than an exhausted, embittered suburban housewife.
Except now, she doesn’t look at Carol at all. She stares out the window, and there’s a tension in her body that makes Carol feel truly awful. This was the wrong time to start… anything—even a friendship. God, what was she thinking? With the divorce still in process and Harge so increasingly volatile, Carol has enough to do just with keeping herself together. Why introduce this new complication? Just thinking of how Harge spoke to Therese, the accusation and disdain in him, reminds Carol that it’s not only her who stands to get hurt. Therese has been hurt already. Better to break the whole thing off before it goes any further. Before Carol can ruin another precious and beautiful thing.
She is half-determined to say as much at the train station, when she hears it. The faintest little inhale, shaky, which is the sound of someone trying not to cry.
Carol acts on impulse. The roads are dark and empty. She pulls off to the side, away from any potential traffic. She switches off the headlights but leaves the engines running, because it’s freezing outside and she doesn’t want Therese to be cold on top of everything.
For several moments, they are silent, only the moon to offer any illumination. Therese still looks out the window. Carol stares straight ahead, her heart pounding with emotions she struggles to name. What should she say to her? What can she say, that will make up for the past hour?
“I’m sorry.”
Carol’s almost surprised by her own voice. As if she didn’t even intend to speak. But now she has the rest of it comes out rather more quickly than she expects.
“I was terrible back at the house, I was so upset and I—I didn’t think. I should never have spoken to you like that. And I should never have put you in this position in the first place. I hope you can forgive me, Therese, it’s all… It’s all gone rather badly, I think.”
There are several more moments of silence, excruciating. In their short acquaintance Carol has already wondered more than once what Therese’s quietness means. Her large doe eyes are so expressive, and yet Carol rarely knows what the expressiveness means. Now, with Therese’s face turned away, Carol is even more untethered.
Then, finally, she hears her voice, soft, and low, “I want…”
She trails off. Carol watches her, feeling tense all over. When no more is forthcoming, she presses her, “Yes? What do you want? Tell me.”
She watches the girl breathe in deeply, and let it out, still turned away. “I want to... ask you things,” she says. “But I'm... not sure that you want that.”
A ripple of nerves goes through Carol, but also, a ripple of hope, of… longing.
“Ask me,” she says. Nearly begs her, ‘Please, ask me…’
Finally, Therese turns her head. She doesn’t look at her, staring forward, but just the sight of her exquisite profile allows Carol to breathe a little easier. Though not for long.
“Do you do this often?” Therese asks.
Carol goes rigid. Her eyes narrow in a sudden flare of defensiveness. “Do what?” she asks, her voice flat and cold.
Therese gives a half shrug, looking down at her hands. “Befriend people,” she says. “People… people like me.”
Carol’s brow furrows.
“People like you?”
“Young, and… well, not rich, I suppose, or cultured, or interesting.”
“Therese, honestly,” Carol releases an exasperated sigh. “Do you think I would have asked you to my home if I didn’t think you were interesting? And as for not being rich, I hardly think—”
“What did Mr. Aird mean when he said, ‘bold’?”
Carol stops. Carol closes her eyes. Carol looks away. God damnit, Harge!
“You told him how we met, and he said, ‘That’s bold.’ What did he mean?”
Fuck, Carol thinks, her jaw tensing, her nostrils flaring. Fuck fuck fuck!
It’s rare that Carol finds herself completely speechless. More often she is fighting to keep her mouth shut, to stop herself saying something that will only make her troubles worse. Now, however, when words are so needful, she goes blank, she stumbles, and then she starts rambling.
“Therese, I—I think—you must understand that Harge is—well, he’s always been rather jealous of my friends, and he—well, he says things sometimes when he’s upset. The crassest things. And I—I hope you won’t—I hope you don’t misunderstand, or think that I—”
A hand on hers stops everything. Carol looks toward her sharply and finds that in the dimness of the car Therese’s eyes are like twin jewels, shining at her. Her face is almost expressionless, except that Carol detects something beneath it, an undercurrent of feeling. The hand on top of hers grasps gently, and they both look, together. Carol is wearing her gloves. Therese’s hand is bare, her small, delicate fingers pressing Carol’s, her thumb moving almost unconsciously, to sweep across Carol’s thumb. Even with the gloves, Carol imagines she can feel it, and that feeling makes everything stutter inside her.
“Did he mean this?” Therese whispers.
Carol’s mouth goes dry. Even if she wanted to speak, she can’t. She stares at Therese’s face, as Therese stares at their hands. Therese, not waiting for her answer, asks ponderingly, “Is it like this, sometimes, between women?”
Oh, God…
Carol swallows, trying to find her voice. Therese’s question, spoken so innocently, is somehow not innocent at all. Is bewitching. Is, whether Therese realizes it or not, one of the most arousing things that Carol has ever heard, and now heat is running through her, like a current. When Therese looks up into her eyes again, she feels pinned, feels dissected and seen, and wants it.
But she is afraid, too.
“I—” Carol clears her throat. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”
If Therese knows she is lying (Therese must know she is lying) her face shows no consternation. Instead, she moves, scooting sideways in the seat. She turns, bringing her legs up behind her, so that she is sitting on her calves and suddenly close enough that Carol can see her eyelashes. Therese is still touching her hand, almost worshipfully, as if it is a marvel to her. And Carol, well—Carol can hardly breathe.
Therese says, softly, “When I saw you in Frankenburg’s, I thought you were the most incredible woman I had ever laid eyes on. And since then I… I feel as though I am… always thinking of you. You’re all I can think about. Is that strange?”
Carol’s lips part, and then close. Therese is sitting so close to her; it’s becoming harder and harder to think. She feels intoxicated by her nearness, drunk on the potency of what is happening—Therese’s eyes, opening to a new world. A new possibility.
“Perhaps,” Carol finally rasps, feeling she ought to warn her at least. “It… perhaps it is strange.”
Therese nods pensively. Then, she reaches for the edge of Carol’s glove. She peels it up, slowly, until Carol’s wrist is bare. She brings her wrist to her lips, the most delicate kiss, like a knight errant. Carol’s entire body seems to light up, a charge going through her, potent as electricity.
“Therese,” she whispers, breathless, hoarse.
“Is this wrong?” Therese murmurs against her wrist. “Is this not what he meant… by ‘bold’?”
The faintest flicker of her tongue, against Carol’s threading pulse, and with a shudder Carol snatches her hand away—but only so that she can grab the back of Therese’s head, and pull her into her kiss.
They collide, the tension of the past few minutes cracking like a whip, lancing through them, and Carol can’t believe how soft and warm and sweet her mouth is. Can’t believe how hungry she is, for the taste of her. She finds her chance, slides her tongue inside to stroke and tease, and Therese gasps in surprise.
All at once the power has changed hands. Moments ago Therese was like a siren, leading Carol into dangerous waters. Now, she is a woman again, and a young woman, needy. With Carol’s hands on her and Carol’s mouth devouring hers, she whimpers and fidgets and presses closer. Carol pulls her sideways until she is in her lap, the steering wheel wedged behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. She grabs Carol’s face and kisses her back with the urgency of someone who has never been kissed before—not really, anyway. Not well. And this is so arousing to Carol that she kisses harder. She pushes the tartan hat off Therese’s head, sliding fingers into her fine dark hair. Her other hand she uses to quickly unbutton Therese’s coat, to slip inside, to wrap around the small of her back and tug her impossibly closer. She’s so slight and warm in her arms, her mouth is so delicious and eager, that Carol is afraid she’s going to frighten her with the ferocity of her want.
“Darling,” she moans, forcing herself to pull back just enough to speak. “Are you—is this—is this all right?”
“Yes,” Therese says instantly, nodding and pressing closer. “Yes, Carol, yes.”
She grabs at Carol’s fur coat, running her hands all over it with a luxuriousness that reminds Carol of a preening cat, and then she reaches under it, and under the collar of Carol’s dress, so her fingers are suddenly pressed to Carol’s neck, her fingernails like the pricking claws of that cat, and when she touches Carol’s skin, she purrs with pleasure. The sound makes Carol rub her thighs together, realizing suddenly that she is wet and hot and shivering with need. She barely knows this girl, and yet she wants her. She wants her nakedness, the smoothness of her pale skin, the surrender of her mouth. She wants to lay her out on the cool sheets of her bed and worship her, kiss her and lick her and bite her and fuck her until she screams.
Suddenly, light flashes through the car. Carol freezes, and so does Therese. Panic goes through her, images of a police car, of a patrolman strolling up to knock on the window. They could be arrested for this—
But the light moves on. She hears the sound of the car going past, and releases a shuddering breath. It’s dark again, but they both continue to hold perfectly still, caught in the shock of what just happened, and of what is happening. What they’re doing. Therese pulls back, and their eyes meet. Therese’s lips are swollen. Her pupils are dilated. She’s breathing raggedly, and so is Carol, and it would be so easy to drag the girl back in. Except the passing car has brought an inkling of common sense back to her.
“Therese,” Carol murmurs, amazed at the rawness of her own voice. She lifts a hand, trailing the backs of her fingers carefully along Therese’s jaw. Therese presses into her hand, sighing, and Carol swallows hard. “What do you want?” she whispers.
She’d give her anything right now, caution be damned. If Therese wants it, she’ll take her back to the house. If she wants it, she’ll drag her into the backseat. The mere thought is too provocative, like being a teenager again. Only Therese has to tell her. It has to be her choice.
Their eyes still locked, something shifts in Therese’s expression. She tugs her bottom lip briefly between her teeth, and it’s all Carol can do not to wrestle that lip from her, suck it and bite it.
“I think,” Therese starts, and pauses. She shifts in Carol’s lap, which is entirely too distracting. “I think I should… I should probably go home.”
Inside, Carol whimpers with objection, but manages not to let the sound escape. Says only, with an easiness she doesn’t feel, “Of course, Darling. I—you’ve missed your train. I’ll drive you.”
Therese’s eyes drop; she looks suddenly shy, a complete departure from the girl who took her hand and kissed her wrist. She says, “No, I—there’ll be another train. I think… I think it’s better you take me to the station.”
Carol’s stomach plummets. She wants to get away from you. You’ve gone too far. You’ve ruined it, like everything—
“All right,” she says, her own voice uncharacteristically meek. “If you’d prefer it.”
Therese shakes her head, eyes still lowered, looking torn. “It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just… if you take me home, I’ll want you to come in.”
Carol swallows hard. She is not equipped for the emotional whiplash of this night!
“We don’t have to do anything,” she says gently.
At that, Therese’s eyes lift to hers, and she is the siren again, bewitching in her seriousness and her ethereal, moonlit beauty.
“That’s just it,” she whispers. “I want to do… everything.”
If Carol was wet before, she’s absolutely indecent now, so hot and sticky between her thighs that she’s genuinely afraid Therese will be able to smell it.
Therese goes on. “I just think… it’s been a very stressful night for you. I don’t want you to… feel rushed. So perhaps it would be better if we waited?”
Carol blinks. She’s utterly unprepared for this. For the sweetness of this, the gentleness and understanding, as if they really were teenagers, Therese her shy and considerate beau. After the night she’s had, after Harge’s acrimony, to be treated with such tenderness makes tears start in her eyes. She leans forward, pressing her lips to Therese’s in a soft and gentle kiss. Therese kisses her back, just as softly, and after a moment the girl lets out a shuddering sigh.
“Kissing never felt like that before,” she murmurs.
Nor for me, thinks Carol in amazement. God, nor for me. If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love with you.
“Will you let me see you again?” Carol whispers.
Therese pulls back from her lips, blinking dazedly, and then she frowns, as if the idea that they might not see each other is absurd. “Yes,” she says. “Of course.”
“Tomorrow?”
Those red lips pull apart in a truly angelic smile, dimples popping, eyes alight.
“Yes,” she says.
Carol smiles, a bit tremulous, her emotions at the surface. “I’ll take you to the train,” she says.
But they don’t go right away. There in the dark and warmth of the car, Therese is too beautiful for words. So they kiss again, sweet, and free.