Elena Undone (18 page)

“But I thought we had voted to stay away from the political elements of this battle,” Diana pleaded.

“I know we have a strict policy and a politics protocol—after all, I’m the one that designed our policy points. But this is just too big of a fight and we have to be there to help those in the trenches fighting on our behalf. This is the one issue where we must all band together, gather all our resources. Do you have any idea how wealthy…the…those well, the men are, anyway?”

Elena’s head swiveled to her as all the other women excitedly jumped in.

“Do you have any idea what they refer to themselves as?” Millie continued, her eyes too wide, her voice too shrill. “The Purple Mafia.” This was followed by a whisper, “You know…the Gay Mafia. Now why do you think they use a term like that? Why, they know themselves that they’re evil!”

Elena quietly excused herself. She couldn’t even take in the words Millie was spouting—she just knew for the sake of her head not exploding off her shoulders that she had to exit.

She found a nice lonely willow tree to sit by, removed her phone from her purse, looked to see if she had any messages. She was about to pop the phone back into the purse, but glanced back at Millie’s rigid back as she organized her minions. She retrieved her phone and began to text.

*

Peyton lounged on her sofa at the gazebo, looking at the last proofs of the photos she and Elena had taken, a variety of 8 x 10s, not only going over the shots, but the events around photographing several of the women Peyton had interviewed for the book. One was a serious bodybuilder and aerialist whose musculature was sculpted of the most exquisite lines; another was a pregnant mom; and the third was a series of photos Elena roohotos Ehad taken of an eighty-seven-year-old spiritualist/healer who worked with disabled children.

Elena had taken photos of this master healer teaching these adorable children by utilizing a sort of gentle laying on of hands, a new way to move their knobbled knees and palsied limbs. What made all this more amazing is that the woman had been blind since she was four and was now in her late eighties. Elena had captured the gritty beauty of the woman’s arthritic and gnarled hands upon the soft children’s flesh. The entire photo shoot held a spirituality and a poignancy that Peyton had never witnessed before. Elena had revealed so much of her own self in the manner in which she had depicted the older woman’s vocation with her own avocation and it truly impressed Peyton.

Peyton thought back to the previous week when Elena had taken the shots. “You were so good with her and the kids,” she had told her.

“Oh my gosh, Peyton. They were such a joy to shoot.”

And Peyton remembered the electric excitement in Elena’s eyes, and wondered how she could ever have given up something that she so loved.

Peyton glanced through the photos one more time, laid them to one side, sighed and closed her eyes momentarily.

Peyton’s phone buzzed. She shook off sleep, trying to clear her head. She picked up the phone and read the text:

Oh my god...I feel so out of place here. Elena.

Peyton stretched, trying to clear the bugs from her head, stared at the text a moment.

R U Ok? Peyton texted her back.

These people feel like strangers.

Is it possible for u to go home? Peyton shot back.

No. :( But looking forward to R photo shoot Friday.

For the next half hour Peyton tried to support Elena’s efforts at the retreat, giving her as much positive feedback as she could, and then suddenly Elena’s texts stopped, no goodbye even.

*

“Where the heck have you
been?
” Barry walked up behind Elena, terrifying her. “I’ve been trying to find you everywhere. We’re supposed to be hosting cocktails in ten minutes. You’re not even changed.”

Elena looked up at him, exasperated.

“What?” he asked, exasperated right back. “What’s with you?”

He sat next to her and studied her for a moment, then said, his voice calm and proficient, as if he were addressing one of his parishioners, “Everything okay here? Tell me what you’re feeling. Break it down for me.”

“Ughhh….”

“I’m sorry.” Barry cleared his throat, studied his wife. “Okay…what’s going on, El?”

“Don’t you ever get...get
sick
of all this?”

Taken aback, he took some moments to consider her question. “Well, sure I do. We all do. But, it’s just temporary.” He put a hand on her arm. “We all have our bad days.”

She shrugged him off her, then felt badly, took his hand in hers. “I’m sorry…guess I’m missing Nash.”

“Trust me, he’s not missing us.” He winked at her. She smiled back. He was probably right about that. Nash and Tori had gone off to spend the weekend with Tyler and Lily. Tyler had purchased tickets to take the kids to
Wicked
presumably to give Elena and Barry a bit of a break. When Elena had dropped the kids off, Tyler had made a sarcastic comment about her “mysterious disappearance.” Tori had jumped in to explain that “Momma Bear is on a project. She’s shooting again.”

“Do tell!” Tyler insisted, his tone teasing, as, of course, he already knew she had been spending copious amounts of time with Peyton “working on the Women’s Glory Project.” Lily had arched a brow. Tyler smiled enthusiastically and Nash summed everything up with “Yeah, this is a great opportunity for mom to have something of her own.”

“Isn’t that the truth!” Tyler heartily agreed.

Elena was thrilled that Tyler and Lily had the kids this weekend. It was an opportunity for Nash to have a break from all the zealotry. She wasn’t sure how long it was going to be before Nash and Barry arrived at an unresolvable stalemate around the church, Barry’s role in it, and the resentments Nash harbored toward all the hypocrisy he rebelled more and more against. She feared a huge falling out in the not too distant future.

“Elena!” Barry snapped. She shook her head, rubbed her throbbing temples as Barry’s voice grew tight. “Look, I’ve got to lead the evening prayer now, and then we have to host this thing, so are you able to do this?”

He looked intently at her, his expression not quite pleading. She nodded silently.

After the endless cocktail hour, an even more endless banquet dinner, Elena was completely exhausted from all the smiling, idle chitchat, earnestness and fanaticism that had all but echoed from the walls. She had a teeming headache.

Now she and Barry were in bed, and as he read his notes for his sermon the following Sunday banwing Sumorning, Elena got out of bed and escaped into the bathroom.

She felt a little guilty that she had put the phone in the bathroom to charge because she had done so with the express purpose of being able to text Peyton later:

Sorry I had to dash—unexpected interruption… But I want to thank you, P… U make me feel like I can get through anything.

She waited a moment. Then hit Send.

*

Peyton walked up to the front door, glanced about, uncertain. Was she really doing this? Before she could knock, or decide not to, Elena opened the door. Peyton smiled.

They both felt a bit awkward. After all, Peyton had never seen Elena’s world. Almost all of their exchanges had taken place at Peyton’s home, Pinot Latte, at the park or a photo shoot.

“Hey.” Peyton shuffled.

“Please, come in.”

Elena gave her an extremely brief tour. There wasn’t much to show. Nash’s very fifteen-year-old-boy room cluttered with posters of soccer players, the occasional band photo and a collage of photos Elena apparently had taken as a walk down memory lane for him and Tori. Down the hall was Tori’s guest room, feminine, the bed piled with Tori’s clothes, but when they reached the closed master bedroom door Elena merely pointed at it, and then they were quickly in the kitchen, which was separated only by an arch from the dining room and conjoined living room.

On the dining room table, Elena had placed a variety of Danish, which she offered Peyton. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry before the shoot.”

Peyton tried to be polite. “Nah...I’m fine. Really. I just finished swimming and had a big lunch. But thank you. For going to all this trouble.”

“Well, then…” Elena looked expectantly at Peyton. “We should begin.”

Elena’s garage/studio was cramped, but served its purpose. In the space existed two universes. One side was comprised of the usual garage paraphernalia, shelves of hammers, bolts, a room fan, boxes, clutter. And on the other side, a sheer set of drapes had been set up to cover both corners of the wall, one serving as a backdrop, the other as a framing wall, where many beautiful shots had been hung—photos of Nash, Tori, scenic and artistic shots.

Elena finished setting up her lights as Peyton milled around studying the photos. Barry was only in a couple of family photos. He seemed to be absent from Elena’s world. Peyton wondered how that must feel. Then realized that her relationship with Margaret wasn’t all that different. You just sort of walked through the day, or as Wave had described it in a droll robotic tone, “…on autopilot, spread legs, insert fingers. Come. Now.”

“Okay you,” Elena interrupted Peyton’s thoughts and stated with finality. “Sit.”

On her turf Elena felt more confident, more in control. For the first time, perhaps, she felt equal to Peyton, not just like a mom, or an ordinary housewife in comparison with a professional writer who traveled and saw exotic sites and lived in an entirely different world than she, who did not have to mind the mundane—the church meetings, trips to the dry cleaners, sack lunches. Finally, she felt as if she could offer something to Peyton that was more exceptional than all that and it made her feel a little giddy.

She stopped for a moment, considering her subject, returned to Peyton, bent to unbutton her shirt, loosening it to expose more of her neck. She reflected on her handiwork. Yes, better.

But something still was bothering her. Gently Elena curled the hair about Peyton’s face.

Peyton’s jaw tightened. She slowly looked up. Elena’s eyes lasered into her own, but Peyton did not drop the gaze.

Elena swallowed, then backed away, frowning, busying herself with the shoot.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Elena asked as she brushed on finishing touches of makeup. “It’s rather personal.”

“Oh-oh.” Peyton mocked terror.

“How…well, how did you know you were gay?”

“How did you know you were straight?” Peyton crisply snapped back her collar.

“No!” Elena commanded. Shrugging, Peyton left the shirt open. Elena considered her lighting, then Peyton. “Well…did you know from the very beginning?”

“No...not really. I did the whole straight thing until my early twenties. But then, I fell head over heels for a...a photographer actually.”

KA-THUMP! The lamp stand slid from Elena’s fingers, making a loud clatter which scared them both. She giggled nervously, then recovering, responded wryly, “Hmmm. Yes, well...we can be very deep.”

Elena slowly moved back to Peyton, cleared her throat, then swept a makeup brush over Peyton’s forehead, bent to look closer at Peyton’s face.

“What about you...” Peyton murmured.

Their eyes locked a moment then Elena dropped the gaze quickly, reset a bounce flag. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be anything but straight.”

“No schoolgirl crushes?” Peyton affected an upper English accent. “No Royal Academy theatrical experimentation?”

“No. Nothing.” Elena leaned over to gently tousle Peyton’s hair, and again, theiv>d againir eyes wove a gentle dance of hide-and-seek.

“I never even kissed a girl. With my upbringing...well, it really never occurred to me,” Elena offered, then, challenging, “guess I’m a square.”

“Maybe you’re just straight.”

Elena was struck by those words, losing her balance, and then regained her footing. “Would you turn your head to the light, yes, no, a little to the left. Just there. Good. Now relax.”

Elena looked through her lens. Suddenly Peyton looked different to her. She didn’t know why, perhaps it was the safety of being behind the camera, but Peyton appeared even more attractive, more handsomely beautiful, with those piercing green eyes, the square jaw, those perfectly shaped lips…

Elena realized she was not breathing. Her heart thudded in her chest. She nearly dropped her camera as it dawned on her, very clearly and remarkably, that she found Peyton very attractive. Magnetic. Radiant even.

To settle herself, Elena adjusted the lighting.

“Do you mind if I move around a little?” Peyton asked, feeling uncomfortable. She hated having the focus on her, and was keenly aware of the camera. And Elena.

As Elena turned to respond, Peyton saw Elena bathed in the halo of her own lighting, not unlike the sun flare in the park.

But Elena wasn’t clear what Peyton had said, because she was still mesmerized by this new way in which she was seeing the woman before her.