Outsiders. Part 14

She covered Fran's hand with her own and searched the gaze that held hers. She watched as the earnest concern on Fran's face s.h.i.+fted, became a flash of hurt and dismay as understanding dawned.

"You don't mean because I...I mean...she was-Sam, you know why...why I did that!" Fran exclaimed, her shock palpable. "I was-" She broke off and shook her head again, then took another deep breath as she weighed her next words. She let it out slowly into the heavy silence between them. "Done is done, Sam," she said with quiet firmness as she glanced up again to meet Samantha's eyes. "It was-"

"The wrong thing to do," Samantha interrupted as she moved closer. "I told you then, I'll tell you now," she said as she gently caught Fran's cheek in her hand and cradled it in her palm. The familiar and welcome feel of it brought the automatic rush and flow of the connect between them and combined with the new knowledge gained over the last few weeks; it made Samantha's eyes smart and her heart clench within her chest. "You should have never done it, or you should have fixed it," she told Fran quietly. "But either way?" Samantha paused to catch her breath, to speak past the fist that grabbed her heart. "You shouldn't have left Spain the way you did, you..." She took another breath before she continued. "We could have worked it out, it would have been okay...we should have-" She broke off as the fist in her chest climbed to her throat even as she choked it down. "You shouldn't"-it broke her voice anyway-"you shouldn't have left us."

All the way through the corridor and into the elevator, through the controlled fall to the lobby and her pa.s.sage across it, until she found the concierge and got the first available taxi to the venue, Nina kept her mind stoically blank and her back rigidly straight. It was only after she was safely ensconced in the black vinyl seats-guitar safely tucked, the door firmly closed behind her, and her destination confirmed to the driver-that she let her shoulders sag. Nina rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes beneath her sungla.s.ses, ignoring the sights of the city she rode through. It figures, she thought, frustration the emotion that topped the rest, it just f.u.c.king figures. The cab hailed for her just so happened to be a carbon-copy of one she'd ridden in a few years ago with Fran.

The memory played through her mind. It was a different coast, a different day, the same day she'd gotten into some stupid physical altercation with someone at the bar she worked in then and Nina had taken a solid blow to her face, complete with b.l.o.o.d.y nose. Her boss sent her home early, and on the ride back to Fran's place she...they'd- Nina opened her eyes and leaned forward. It was a mistake to let her mind travel there, to remember how she and Fran had touched and loved, how on that same day, that day now almost four years gone, she'd spoken to Samantha for the first time in a long time. And it had spelled the beginning of the end for her and Fran.

The picture in her mind hurt. It made her ache in ways she hadn't in a long time. It had been fast, a whirlwind of the unexpected-to meet up with Samantha again, to have that cause her breakup with Fran, and then, before she had time to adjust to Fran's removal or Sam's renewal, to have left the continent for her first tour with her first band.

The cityscape flew by unnoticed as her mind played its relentless movie. The tour, the dissolution of that band, and the lack of communication from home-from either Sam or Fran-then the insane, unexpected, and ultimately confusing reunion in Madrid, Spain. During the months they literally lived together, they were friends, good friends, even best friends, until thatnight, that first time between them.

Nina's shoulders involuntarily twitched and she s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably, her skin too warm, the jacket too heavy on her shoulders. She removed it, knowing it wasn't only the mercurial San Francisco weather responsible for her discomfort.

The memory-correction, memories-were more than merely mental reflection: they carried emotional and visceral reality, a reality that felt more vividly three-dimensional than the cab she rode in.

"You're the only one I've ever let touch me, love," Nina said to her that night, her last night before the first tour.

"No, baby, no," Fran corrected, and Nina could still feel the kisses Fran gave her in between the words even as she said them, a warm trail along her neck, then a fiery branding that tracked across her jawline. Nina again felt Fran's thumb draw along her chin. "I'm your first."

And it was true: Fran had been her first, her for-real-and-true first, and Nina had known from the start that Samantha would be the last, but- Dammit! She slapped her palm on the edge of the door. Her eyes, normally light blue with a surrounding silver ring, were the same muddy grey they'd been for the last two weeks. They stared unseeing at the streets streaming past the streaked and scratched gla.s.s. None of that matters now.

The thought was a forlorn one as Nina let her body rest against the door, done fighting with herself for the moment. She'd not been truly alone since she and Samantha went to Fran's apartment to find some paperwork Fran asked for while stuck in the hospital-"Just some routine tests," Fran told them on the phone. "My doc's being overly cautious..."

Among the doc.u.ments they searched, they found an unexpected surprise, a secret that Fran had held for a few years. But before either one of them could truly ask her about it, the diagnosis came, shocking them all.

I'm scared, Nina admitted to herself. I don't want to lose her-not again, and not like that-it's too soon. It was a good starting point, that admission, it opened the doors for other reflections and thoughts. But still, her mind skirted around the edges of deeper truth, wading in a step at a time.

Just the thought, the idea, of Ren makes me angry, and it's not as if I've ever even met her. Samantha, Nina thought, Samantha and Fran love each other. It's just not fair. I don't even know why it's Samantha and I, and not the two of them. And the truth? Nina took a deep breath, because it was a deep truth, one that she'd not wanted to face. I guess...the truth is that it's kinda my fault. The first, and the last. I never counted on "always," never knew I'd been in- "Here ya go, Miz," the driver announced, interrupting her thoughts.

"Yeah. Thanks," Nina answered as she fished mechanically into her pocket for her wallet, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to the driver before once again donning both jacket and sungla.s.ses. Grabbing her guitar case, she stepped out onto the curb and walked toward the open double doors that led to the back stage.

Nina watched for a moment as two people struggled to push a large wooden box through the doors. Some of the lighting rigs, she surmised. That was all the confirmation she needed that she had the right entrance. She had a job to do and, forcibly putting all her musings aside, "Now is now," Nina told herself firmly. She readjusted her guitar and stepped in.

It's only for a few days, Fran reminded herself as she examined her reflection in the mirror. Big eyes stared back at her. Warm as caramel, bright as gold. Both Nina and Samantha told her that many times in many ways, over the years.

Right now, she-and they-just had to get through it, and that was critical. She was painfully, almost terrifyingly, aware that there was yet another hurdle to be faced very soon after, but this, this here and now? She resolutely turned her mind from it, focused on her breath, on her hands, on the tasks before her. I am in this room. I feel the air as I breathe it in and out, feel the soft and supple leather beneath my fingers. I hear the sounds of the air in the vents, feel it as a nice cool breeze on my still damp back. I can smell the soap from the shower, and outside, the sun is getting ready to set.

She ran careful fingers through her hair, long curls and waves the color of wheat mixed with strands of burnt sugar. Water, air, earth, and fire, she continued as she readied herself and breathed with focused intent, part of and with the energy that is the Universe, the energy that flows through me, is me, right here, right now. Centered and calm, Fran allowed herself to review what she knew and what she had to do.

This night, this first night of three with its attendant party afterward, was in reality part cross-cultural celebration and part business meeting, or perhaps "audition" was a better description, since outside of the performers themselves, the audience would be a limited one. In essence, it would be a witnessed rehearsal. The combination of performance, audience attraction, and crowd response were all critical to the future that the three of them, Nina, Samantha, and Fran, had begun to plan-the creation of a new label, their own label, outside of the confines and schedule their current label had them under.

It was supposed to be a secret, so of course the news of that traveled in the usual way through the usual channels. Samantha spoke with Graham, who was not only a close friend, but also one of the acts they wanted to sign. Graham, of course told his wife, Maeko, and Ren...well, Ren was Maeko's cousin. There was, Fran thought ruefully, no avoiding the Tokyo connection.

Under the pretext of holding a j.a.panese Moon Festival for a private select party of both audience and investors, Ren brought her dance troupe to perform, as well as her lawyer and her accountant. Her company was, after all, the primary one interested in investing the funds a new label start-up would require, and it was a matter of proving to the purse-string holders that the investment was a sound one.

Instead of merely performing for the investors, it made business sense for the band to recoup the expense of both the travel and the personnel by having an actual show. Ren's group, traveling in from Tokyo, agreed.

As for Ren...Fran couldn't stop the sigh that escaped her. Five years wasa long time to not see or be in true contact with someone, and the practicality of geographic distance aside, the reasons were sound ones. During Fran's year in j.a.pan, they'd been joined because of mutual study and interest, before it became...

Well, Fran reflected, it had never been love between her and Ren, not really, not in the soul-binding way it was between her and Samantha, nor, only a few years later, the blood-bond between her and Nina. Her connection to Ren had been an a.s.sociation of comrades in arms before it became a way to distract and even somewhat block the unbreakable and powerful link she had to Samantha.

Fran shook her head as she examined herself one last time. Despite that, Fran was very aware that she and Ren could and would have made a powerful team: they were mutually aware of and comfortable in the recognition of the type of love they didn't share, they were comfortable with one another. They were also aware that although they did not have the same devotion that they had with others, their loyalty could have equaled it.

It would have been very easy to do, and it was tempting: after all, between the genuine care and respect, the tacit familial approval, and the financial backgrounds they both came from, life between them would have, in many ways, been easy. But that life would have come at a cost Fran was unwilling to pay.

It was no secret, either to Fran or to her circle of friends, that her father was a local politician with ambition for greater things. The approval and the outright encouragement he'd shown toward the growing closeness between her and Ren had taken Fran by surprise...until she learned his reasons behind it.

At the time, Ren had only recently been recognized and legitimized by her father-"I am my father's daughter because he has no son." Herfather was a man much like Fran's father. He had similar standing in their own community, as well as the same sort of ambitions and connections to achieve them. Ren's father-was Yakuza. And Ren worked for him.

The discovery of Ren and her father's direct involvement with the underworld and Fran's own father's connections to something similar led her to break free from it all-from her father, from Ren, from anything that would tie her and obligate her in ways she didn't want to things that were not right.

The ethical and legal breaches committed by her father and her lover felt like the deepest sort of betrayal; they violated Fran's ethics, her sense of self, and the image of her father she'd been made to believe. Fran simply could not pretend that this aspect of their life didn't exist.

That was ethics-a full half of her decision. The other half was love. Fran knew very clearly what she and Samantha shared was something so real, so d.a.m.ned true, it was transcendent.

No, they weren't-and at the time they couldn't-be together, but it made no difference. For Fran, any relations.h.i.+p that could not equal or exceed the connected intensity of her and Sam was ultimately a sham; for her to willingly suspend her knowledge of that would betray what love is all about. She was capable of all sorts of compromise, but not with these parts of herself, things that defined who she was at core. When she found Nina another year or so later, she knew she'd been right.

But before that reintroduction happened, Fran wanted, she needed, to escape, to free herself from a web of deceit and worse that she wanted nothing to do with. She needed a solution, and quickly, before she was completely ensnared, with no way out. That life, the one her father and Ren promised her, was one Fran had in fact taken vows to fight against.

That was when she made the decision to- She shook her head once more as she took her jacket from the closet.

When Fran left Tokyo after a year, she flew across the Pacific unsure of where she'd eventually go or how she'd manage to maintain her studies and create her financial independence. A brief visit to her parents' home and an even briefer visit with the items she'd left there revealed the answer.

The brochures in an old packet of "how to afford your college degree" given to every high-school senior made it seem so simple, so easy, attractive even. "Come to the Coast," they seemed to say to her then-New Yorker heart. "All expenses paid. And it's such a small thing on your part, while it's a huge gift to someone else."

Those ads appealed to her, the mix of altruism and profit was the perfect combination, and so after a little investigation, she decided to give it a go.

For a while, it seemed that the pitchmen were right-she was ostensibly helping people out and able to do something for herself at the same time. At first she didn't mind the paid trips to California, the strict medical regimen; she even found she tolerated the side-effects quite well until...Until she was with Nina.

And d.a.m.n Samantha for bringing that up! But then, she never really told Samantha how much that break had hurt her too.

The only thing Fran found she was able to do at the time was admit to Nina that she'd overreacted. But she didn't reveal some of the reasons behind the "why" of it, the true reasons behind. And so, done was done, and through her own actions, so were she and Nina. By the time Fran truly realized that perhaps something different was possible, not only was it too late, but also she had made a decision based on what she thought were very sound reasons, and they had settled into the roles that now ruled their lives.

Except...except...it was Nina and the secrets and scars she carried that Fran was thinking of when not allowing things to develop in different directions. Well, not one hundred percent, because there was also Sam to consider, and Fran's intimate knowledge of the things Samantha had been denied for so long. Knowing Sam, her Sammer, the way she did, Fran believed her withdrawal from the situation would give back some of those things.

But now, Fran's long-held secret was coming to light, and the tension between all three of them was reaching a painful point, especially since the "big C" came into their world.

Fran shrugged the light jacket across her shoulders and slid the room key into a side pocket, then quickly double-checked her soft-sided attache. She took a deep breath, squared and set herself before she reached for the latch.

She was afraid but, she suspected, not in the way most would be. She didn't know if she could kick the illness, didn't know what the treatments, starting soon after her return from this trip, would do to her. What she did know was that forming their own label was a dream dear to those precious to her, and no matter what tomorrow held, it was up to her today to do her best to ensure that dream came true. That was something that would last, whether or not she did. That was what mattered. She closed the door behind her.

No way over but through, Ren thought as she observed the chatting group that stood next to the bar. The dim and atmospheric lighting obscured most features at this distance, but time and distance aside, there was no mistaking Fran, the set of her shoulders, or the toss of the hair she'd let grow so long since the last time they were together. Nor could she miss the pair that stood near her within that crowd. After her dance group ran through their routines, Ren watched the band sound check, then put on the rehearsal performance for the investors and self-important industry suits that made up the select audience.

Cray she knew, or at least had met during a trip to New York when the former Londoner made an unexpected visit. She never learned the full story behind the surprise arrival, but it was obvious that Fran had something Cray needed, and equally as obvious that Fran wanted to provide it.

Ren wasn't certain if it was those days and that...that interruption...that prevented a full reconciliation with Fran, nor was she sure if she considered Samantha Cray a rival. She did, though, recognize an equal when she met one and, even prior to that day, had been very aware of Cray's initial claim, as well as the depth of her tie, to Fran. Either way, one thing was for certain: that was the last time Ren had actually, physically, seen Fran.

Going into this new venture, Ren at least knewthem to varying degrees. The person who was truly new to her was Nina, and Ren was also very aware that she had once been a seemingly impossible dream for both Fran and Cray. Back then, when Nina and Fran were together, Ren thought Nina was the only person in the world capable of making Fran isolate herself from her friends, for she neither answered nor returned letters and phone calls during that time. That alone was enough to convince Ren of how deep in it Fran was. It also made her wary of this "Nina."

"Hey, can I give you a hand with anything?" Nina asked her not more than eight hours ago.

Ren had observed the pretty girl-woman, she corrected herself-when she entered the backstage area behind the crew pus.h.i.+ng the crate with the lighting rig. It took a moment to recognize the face, given the casual clothes and sungla.s.ses and the nonchalant pony-tail, but when the woman with the guitar took those sungla.s.ses off and smiled as she introduced herself to the crew chief, recognition from photos and videos, along with the brightness of the mega-watt grin, struck Ren.

She's taller than I expected, Ren noted as she turned away and focused mostly on the sets she and her crew were a.s.sembling. "Mostly" because every now and again, her attention returned to the cipher that was the only person Ren had every truly considered a threat to her own intentions.

Oh, she was over it now, really and truly, but Ren had concerns for her friend, concerns about the amount of love she knew Fran held for Nina, for Cray, and what all of that might mean both personally and professionally.

She hadn't expected Nina to walk over and offer to lend a hand and was surprised at her own acceptance of it.

"Yes, that would be wonderful," she answered, and quickly grasped the hand held out to her for introductions.

"Nina Boyd," she told her as they shook briefly.

"Toya," Ren responded automatically, the habit of using her surname long ingrained. Now, as she approached, she realized that might have created some confusion. Ren did not appear "typically" j.a.panese. With her straight dark hair pulled back into a working ponytail to reveal a high and clear forehead, Ren's mixed ethnicities sculpted her face, leaving delicate outlines that would be described as cla.s.sic in more than just her father's culture. Blue eyes revealed not only her mother, but also the presence of gaijin-foreigner blood-in her father's line.

"Can you swing a hammer or play with a paint brush?"

"Sure, either or both." Nina laughed. "And I can help you a.s.semble those flats over there too."

Sometime later, flats and sets painted, a.s.sembled, then disa.s.sembled for later return to the stage, Ren was again surprised-she hadn't expected that she would sincerely like Nina. She objectively knew that boded well for a future if they worked together in any capacity, but it also made it harder for Ren to be as equally objective when it came to observing Nina in connection to Fran. It didn't matter if Ren harbored anything more than an abiding friendly love and an honest admiration for the woman whom she secretly admitted was probably the one person she'd been closest to in her life.

She had very good reasons for pursuing this deal: in addition to providing a forum for artistic expression with business control, it was a public declaration to her late father and to the remnants of the clans that once rivaled his. It would tell them that the Door-into-the-Valley, the Toya clan, was truly dead: Ren herself delivered the fatal blow, then turned her back on the underworld.

And it was a legitimate venture; the money she invested in it came, not from her work for her father, nor from her inheritance. No, it came only from the success of the efforts she and her troupe put into their fledgling company, and this was something Ren was deservedly very proud of. But finally, too, and perhaps most importantly, it was both her apology as well as her thanks to Fran...for everything.

Ren took a deep breath and stepped toward the circle. This was her first opportunity since arriving to truly meet and greet everyone outside of the troupe. She addressed her first h.e.l.lo to the person closest to her, pitching her voice to carry just slightly over the background music.

"h.e.l.lo, Cray. It's been a while."

"Toya." Cray spun and held her hand out for a quick but firm handshake.

The smile Ren observed was not merely a formal one, but it was not much more than that, either. "Yes, it has. You traveled well?"

"Smoothly enough." Ren nodded.

"Glad to hear it," Samantha said politely. "Have you met Neil, house sound engineer?" she asked with a wave of her hand to the gentleman she'd been talking with.

"Not officially," Ren answered with a small grin, "I got caught up with-"

"Ren!"

Fran's voice was bell-clear, her smile genuine and warm, and Ren couldn't help but respond with an equally genuine expression. She restrained herself as she leaned forward and, instead of an embrace, caught Fran's hand, smooth and cool, with both of hers.

Ren was again surprised at the sudden rush of emotion that physical proximity brought with it; she'd not expected that. Suddenly, she was twenty again; she was finally recognized and, if not loved, then at least needed, by her father, by Fran. Outside of Maeko, who was cousin and kin, she had made her first true friend.

"It is wonderful to see you, my Hope," Ren told her in j.a.panese, unable to stop herself from either the expression or from using the name she'd always used for Fran: Nozomi, hope. Such was what Fran had always been to her.

"It's good to see you, too," Fran answered in English and took her hand back to reach for the arm of the person who stood slightly turned away. "Have you met Nina?"

"Toya," Ren told her as they shook hands for a second time that day. "Ren Toya." For one brief moment, she regretted the revelation, because it meant the almost-anonymous observation of Nina she enjoyed was gone.

Ren was taken aback by the expression, the pure emotions that flew through the dark grey eyes that looked down and back at her. They reminded Ren of where she was and why she was there. And as Nina murmured the required social nicety in ritual return, Ren learned several things: the confident, nice young woman with an una.s.suming air who had helped her construct sets and then gone on to her own sound check and performance was not merely a pretty face with a voice, nor was she someone who was kind but essentially stupid with a softness at core that made for weakness. This was someone who did not appreciate deceit or the appearance of it.

No. There were two things Ren learned, and the first was that she had grossly underestimated whom she met and whom she was dealing with, for in that grasp that reminded Ren of a gauntlet and the now-visored gaze that reviewed her, Nina revealed her core-it was steel.

Samantha's head was tight with an uncomfortable tingling numbness she'd not felt for a long time. Part of it she recognized as the weight of too many minds, too many emotions after a high-level, important, performance. But the rest of it...

This particular meet-and-greet function was similar to so many others she attended, but the differences were critical and were not so well hidden below the surface. She kept a practiced smile on her face as she moved from group to group. The first held a discussion on cultural impact and relevance of the project-this was really a metaphor for how much do you think we'll make off this. The next was full of effusive praise for how timely, how daring, how cutting edge it was to include a performing troupe such as Toya's, a troupe that mixed original works with cla.s.sics and standards and featured an all-female cast in both male and female roles. Such appeal to the avant garde! And of course, there was Samantha's and Nina's band, too, featuring real, out lesbians! And they had a "look" as well as sound that would have ma.s.s market appeal! Plus, they already had solid indie cred and support.

Samantha smiled politely through all of it, answered questions about production frequency, current audience reach versus projected, and thinly veiled inquiries about additions and changes to the current stage show, how to kick it up a notch.

"After all," the talking head in the suit blithely continued, oblivious to the warning glance given him by his less obtuse clone, "ya got hot music, hot chicks. Hold on there, Greggs!"-he shook off the obviously cautioning hand laid on his forearm by his colleague-"Ya get a little action going and you're looking at being in the solid black for the next ten years!"

It was that last, said with a slight raise to the eyebrows, too-wide eyes, and uncontainable smirk that snapped at the last of her reserves.

You slimy f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Samantha thought, no one's having on-stage s.e.x for your viewing or other pleasure. "You've got the wrong party or the wrong idea. Either way, this conversation is over."

She paused a moment for the clone-companion's attempt at an apology. "I've traveled for hours, sound checked, and performed. You will excuse me, won't you?" The smile she gave him before she moved on was mostly teeth.

Seemingly interminable moments later, Samantha was at the bar signaling for a bottle of water. When the plastic with its condensed-water skin touched hers, she ripped the cap off and took a slow, long sip, then allowed herself to relax against the wooden ledge.

The music in this area wasn't quite as loud as it was in others though it wasn't completely muted, and as Samantha listened, she wondered if Nina had made suggestions for the play list-it bore her "style."

The melody played well to Samantha's feelings, and she attempted to rid herself of the anger and irritation from the last conversation. The sweet dark tones over hard rhythm brought her back to the things that carried much more weight for her, and she let herself process through them, from least to most important.

The performance had gone well, and from her place in the wings, she enjoyed watching the troupe that preceded them. The next two nights sold well; no matter how discussions went, the event, in and of itself, was a success.

Samantha lit a cigarette and inhaled. She had a view of the larger room, including the area reserved for dancing. The rest of the band, the dancers from the troupe-all still in their various stage-wear, just as Samantha herself was-mingled with the other guests and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

She exhaled slowly and considered Toya's figure striding off the dance floor in search of whatever through the smoke. The dark suit she wore through the last part of her performance fit her beautifully, accentuated the strength of her shoulders, the narrowness of her hips, let the length of her legs show. The look was sharp, strong, and Toya had left her hair loose, let its straight ebony length brush her shoulders. That touch of softness, the malleable flow of it, was a stark contrast to the unyielding lines and angles. It highlighted them, but instead of clas.h.i.+ng, they melded: softness and strength, grace and power.

It was that melding of contrasts, Samantha admitted, that pointed to the similarity between them, almost as if they were two sides of the same coin-or perhaps the same side of different coins? She didn't know.

Samantha's feelings about Ren were mixed at best; Ren's presence brought memory with her, memory of a time of pain and confusion. f.u.c.king ironic, Samantha considered as she tapped the red glow between her fingers against the ashtray. Ren's here, and there's more pain to deal with.

Samantha did not know the entire story between Fran and Ren, but she did know that Fran's turning to Ren back in those days was very much a direct result of Samantha's own actions. Fran was the source of both the discomfit and the uneasy peace. The truce between Samantha and Ren, hastily hammered into place after they finally met, was a strained thing at best; it was an a.s.sociation forged through ties of friends.h.i.+ps and the relations of others. Samantha didn't really know why but she also held a sense of debt to Ren. And she had no idea how to repay it.

All those paths of thought ended in the same place as her eyes found, then tracked, Fran crossing the floor, arm in arm with her old friend. She took another sip, watching the dark head draw closer to the golden one as together they stepped onto the dance floor.