Authors: Jane Frances
Tags: #Australia, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Women television personalities, #Lesbians, #Fiction, #Lesbian
Training Days (35 page)
Morgan told Ally everything. About Audrey and the threats each had issued during their breakup. About the shared veil of secrecy surrounding her other Australian lovers and about the freedom her travel with
Bonnes Vacances
had afforded. She didn’t—in fact she couldn’t—give an exhaustive list of her lovers, but she provided enough detail for Ally to get the general picture.
“So.” Morgan smiled a little unsurely as she drew to a finish. Ally had remained quiet throughout the telling, forcing Morgan to gauge her reactions via subtle changes in her expression. “Now you know.”
Ally, whose latest expression almost exactly replicated the one she had worn when Mark first left the two of them alone in Barcelona, shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked.
Morgan couldn’t help but notice Ally’s movement had left a little more space between them. On purpose? she wondered. She decided to use Ally’s own words. “In case things get written or said, I wanted you to know beforehand what was the wrapping and what was just filling.”
Ally gave the smallest of nods but her eyes searched Morgan’s, as if looking for another explanation. “That’s it?”
“What other reason would I have?” Morgan squeezed Ally’s hand reassuringly. “Trust me—this is not the kind of thing I discuss with just anyone. In fact, you’re the first.”
Ally gave another teeny nod. Her lashes were lowered and she seemed to study her hand as it lay in Morgan’s. Her head lifted suddenly and she blurted, “I told you I don’t know anymore exactly where I stand on affairs. But I do believe in monogamy.”
“Wha . . . ?” Morgan felt her insides tie into a knot. She’d admitted that two of her Australian lovers—one a high-profile newscaster and the other a professional golfer—had been married. “I told you I wasn’t proud of those decisions, but—”
“I don’t care about them.” Ally shook her head vehemently. As if reading what Morgan was thinking, she said, “They’re in the past and what’s done is done. You can’t change it. I’m talking about
now
.”
Morgan frowned. She knew without a doubt that Ally wasn’t married and she’d believed it when she had said James was no longer in the picture. Then, suddenly, she knew what Ally was driving at. She was still employed with
Bonnes Vacances
. She’d still be traveling all over the world. So Ally was wondering if she’d still be taking advantage of the fringe benefits.
“Oh, baby.” Morgan grabbed for her other hand so she held them both. “You don’t have to worry for one second about that. I haven’t thought about—or even looked at—another woman since I met you.” Given that they had only met two weeks ago, and given that she had just told of her track record while on location, Morgan was well aware that wasn’t a particularly strong argument in her defense. “I love you, Ally, and I don’t want to be with anyone but you. But the only thing I can offer you in proof of that is time.”
There was an extended silence when again Ally seemed to be studying her hands as they lay in Morgan’s. Again her lashes were raised but this time she spoke softly, slowly. And her expression was uncertain. “I’m not just another ‘moment of weakness’ . . . like Marie?”
“Oh no, baby, no!” Morgan drew Ally into her arms, holding her close and kissing her hair. “I’ve had a weak spot for you since the minute we met. But there was nothing momentary about it. I know we’ve only known each other a short time, but it’s been long enough for me to know I want to spend the rest of my days getting to know you better.”
Ally responded by giving Morgan a squeeze that rivaled the rib-crushing one of Marge. Then she giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Morgan asked, confused by the sudden change in Ally’s mood. She pushed her far enough away that they were eye-to-eye.
Ally giggled again. “God knows how you ever graduated from journalism school. Your vocabulary sure needs a bit of work. Four
knows
in one sentence. That’s really sad.”
“Cheeky girl!” Morgan laughed, grabbing for Ally as she slipped from her arms and off the couch.
“I
know
.” Ally poked her tongue out and ran out of the lounge, toward the stairs.
Morgan launched herself off the couch and after her. She caught her just as they reached the bed.
“I love you,” Ally said simply as she was lowered onto the mattress.
Morgan climbed on top of her, straddling her hips and sliding her hands under Ally’s oversized T-shirt. Her skin was deliciously warm and silky to the touch. Morgan smiled crookedly under the weight of her increasing desire. “I know, baby. I know.”
“I don’t know about you”—Morgan grinned at what had quickly become their first private joke—“but I’m starving.”
“I know you are.” Ally was curled up on her side with her head resting on Morgan’s abdomen. She tapped at Morgan’s stomach. “There’s a very loud protest going on in there. Shall we go see what we can rustle up in the kitchen?”
“I’m not sure we’ll find anything much worth eating.” Her fridge was next-to-empty, her housekeeper having cleared out all the food likely to spoil at her last visit. Usually she’d arrive home from her travels to a freshly stocked fridge, but since she’d arrived early and unannounced, that hadn’t happened and her housekeeper’s next visit wasn’t scheduled to occur until Monday. “Unless of course you’d like a bowl of ketchup with a Spanish olive garnish?”
Not surprisingly, Ally screwed up her nose at the offer. “Do you think anyone is still delivering pizza?”
Morgan picked up the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. It was nearly four a.m. “Not likely. There’s an all-night food place a couple of suburbs down, though. I can go pick us up some burgers.”
Ally sat up and tousled her already tousled hair. “You must be exhausted by now. I’ll go.”
“No, I’ll go. You don’t know where it is and it’s complicated to explain.”
“If it’s that complicated you’ll get lost.”
“I have been there before,” Morgan pointed out, smiling. “My sense of direction isn’t
that
bad.”
“Why don’t we both go?” Ally suggested, looking Morgan straight in the eye.
Morgan drew in her breath, hesitating. There may still be reporters lurking. They were nothing if not persistent.
“Fine.” Ally read her own interpretation into Morgan’s silence. She shunted off the bed and pulled her borrowed, oversized T-shirt over her head. “I’m going downstairs for some ketchup.”
“Can you bring me an olive?” Morgan asked, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy mood.
It didn’t work.
“Get your own damn olive.” Ally pulled on her borrowed oversized track pants and stalked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
For a full minute Morgan sat on the bed, chewing on her knuckles. Then she pulled on her own T-shirt and track pants and followed Ally.
“Narnia doesn’t look so wondrous now, does it?” she said quietly as she eased onto a stool on the opposite side of the island bench to Ally.
Ally poked around in the jar that she’d placed on the bench in front of her and picked out an olive. She studied it before popping it into her mouth. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there. I’m stuck in the netherworld called the closet.” She sighed and pushed the olive jar away from her. “And it sucks.”
Morgan released a sigh of her own. “I know.”
Ally glanced sharply at her but seemed to sense this was not a comment made in jest. She reached for Morgan’s hands. “I want to be with you, Morgan. I’ve never wanted something so badly before. I want to hold you and cherish you and love you. And I know I can do all of that, here, in this apartment. But I want more than that. I want you to meet my friends and I want to meet yours. I want to have people over for dinner and not pretend you and I are just friends. I want to be able to talk to my friends and family about you as my partner. I want everything I just took for granted before but never appreciated. I want a
life
— a normal life—with you.” Ally fell silent, as if considering her words. “And I know that because of what you do and who you are—even if we were a traditional couple—that ‘normal’ life wouldn’t be as normal as other peoples’ . . . but it would be nice if we could at least pop out for burgers together.”
Morgan leaned against the low back of the kitchen stool, not quite sure what to say. Actually, because she’d never had a girlfriend since she’d “made it” in television, she’d never really considered the full implications of what it would be like to be the “silent partner.” What would she do if the shoe was on the other foot? How would she cope if Ally was in the spotlight—either rejoicing or suffering—and she could do nothing but whisper her praise or her condolences. Not very well, she imagined.
“You know,” Morgan said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about your mobile phone.”
Ally pulled the jar of olives back toward her and peered into it. “What about it?”
“Well, since I was able to get through to your voice mail, the SIM card still works. So if you bought another phone of the same model then you could just put your SIM in and your boss wouldn’t be any the wiser about your destructive tendencies.”
Ally shrugged, obviously uninterested in the topic. She dug into the jar and picked out an olive. “Yeah. I guess I could do that.”
“You and I could go looking for one together later this morning.”
That suggestion stopped Ally in her tracks. The olive she held never made it to her mouth. “Together? To the shops?”
Morgan nodded. “But you know what they say about shopping on an empty stomach. What say you and I go grab a burger together?”
“Together?” Ally repeated, dropping her olive back into the jar. “But what about the reporters and the tabloids and getting into the news and your reputation, and all of that?”
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe being seen with you will give me an air of respectability.”
Ally scoffed. “I can hardly see how—”
“Do you want to go or not?” Morgan interrupted.
“Yes, I want to go,” Ally said quickly.
Morgan rounded the bench and pulled her to her feet, patting her bottom and leading her in the direction of the stairs. “Then you’d better get changed. It won’t do my reputation any good if you’re photographed looking like a lost little waif.”
“A
young
lost little waif,” Ally said slyly, referring to the inference made by the tabloid article. Then she bolted up the stairs.
For the second time that night, Morgan bolted after her. She didn’t know what would greet them once they got outside, and she certainly didn’t know if Ally was either aware or prepared for it. But she knew for sure, whatever it was, she and Ally would face up to it together.
And that knowledge alone made Morgan happier than she’d been in a very, very long while.
EPILOGUE
Ten months later
Ally started when she felt hands across her eyes. She put down her pencil and ruler and leaned back a little, feeling the familiar curves. “Hello, you.”
“Hello, baby.” Morgan kissed her on the top of her head. “Sorry to disturb the genius at work, but you looked so cute there—all concentration—that I just couldn’t help it.”
Ally smiled as she swiveled her stool so she sat with her back to the drafting table. She checked her watch. “You’re early.”
“Hmm.” Morgan peered at the drafting table, casting her eye over Ally’s latest design. “I took a leaf from your book and concentrated really hard. So I got most of the leadins done in one take. So, if you’re ready . . . ?”
“I’m ready.” Ally nodded. It was past six on a Friday and there was nothing she’d like better than to leave the office for the week. “But Paterson’s not here yet, and you know he’ll be totally bummed out if he misses you.” Ally laughed when Morgan visibly slumped her shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart, he’s catching the bus just to see you.”
“He’s catching the bus because he lost his license.” Morgan pouted. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”
Paterson, Josh’s son, had had his driver’s license revoked for twelve months after being charged with driving a stolen vehicle under the influence of illegal substances. He was now only two months away from being able to apply for his license again, but in the ten months since his court appearance he had rediscovered the joys of public transportation. He had also discovered that Morgan Silverstone was a regular visitor to his father’s offices. And, ever since the first time he met her, he had been smitten.
“He’s coming just to see you.” Ally grinned. She could completely understand Paterson’s crush, even though he, along with the rest of the nation, knew that Morgan was not interested in the opposite sex. “We should wait. Just a few minutes.”
“Fine,” Morgan said, resignation in her voice. She took a seat in one of the plush chairs that now flanked Ally’s desk. They hadn’t been there ten months ago. But a lot of things had changed in the past ten months, one of them being the number of visitors to her office.
That had increased exponentially from the time she went to get late-night burgers with Morgan. They’d been followed and they’d been photographed getting out of Morgan’s Mercedes. They’d also been questioned as they headed into the burger bar, but they hadn’t said a word. This hadn’t stopped their picture making it into the papers—along with an accompanying photograph of Ally as she had entered Morgan’s building earlier that same night. Media speculation about their relationship ran high and Ally had to fight through a forest of reporters and photographers to get into the offices on Monday morning. Then the calls to the office started, and it was almost impossible to distinguish between who was the press, who was a genuine customer and who was just curious to speak to “Morgan’s lesbian lover.”
After three days of constant bombardment, Josh called an emergency meeting and declared the office closed to all but established clientele. Ally shrank in her seat at the announcement and nervously followed him when he asked to see her in his office. But rather than being angry at her for the disruption to business, Josh shook her hand and said, “I always knew you had it in you to finally be honest with yourself.” Then he smiled. “And I always knew you’d be the best thing to happen to this company.” Ally had left his office totally bemused.
How had he known when even I didn’t?
she wondered. And why wasn’t he pissed that the commotion surrounding her private life had spilled into the offices?
After a few months she knew why. After all the public attention, including interviews with herself and Morgan, she had unwittingly become the poster girl for sustainable housing design. Suddenly everyone wanted to know about the best aspect for positioning a house on a block of land, about flow-through ventilation, about thermal mass, about gray water and solar power. And they all wanted to hear about it from Ally.
The offices were inundated. Business had never been better. Hence Josh invested in some very posh and very comfortable chairs for Ally’s clientele.
He had, however, left it up to Ally to sort the wheat from the chaff. She sat through many a meeting with supposed new clients only to discover they were, at best, just interested onlookers or, at worst, reporters looking for some new “Morgan and Ally” gossip. But there was a solid core of genuine customers. Ally had never been busier.
Which was just as well. It helped keep her mind off the fact she didn’t get to see Morgan half as much as she would have liked.
Contrary to Morgan’s original fears, she had been in no danger of losing her job. If anything, her already strong position became even stronger. The ratings for the show soared—not only for the period immediately following her very public coming-out, but consistently week after week. The media speculated over why and came to a “lesbian chic” conclusion. Being lesbian was definitely “in.” One publication even questioned if Morgan was indeed lesbian at all or if she had just fabricated the whole story to boost her popularity.
“Jesus.” Morgan had thrown aside that particular publication during one of her and Ally’s regular media sweeps. “And I thought
you
were the only one I had ever needed to convince about the fact I was gay.”
They’d ended up laughing over both the story and Ally’s initial disbelief about Morgan. But not all the media coverage was taken so lightly. Ally was upset to the point of tears upon reading that she was a “gold digger” out to benefit from Morgan’s current popularity and ongoing wealth.
“I don’t want your money,” Ally, still teary, cried that night in a phone call to Morgan, who was in Ireland at the time. “What gives them the right to say something like that?”
“Oh, baby,” Morgan soothed over and over. “I know you don’t. Just ignore it.”
“I’m trying.” Ally fingered the extremely expensive gold chain and diamond pendant Morgan had presented her with for their three-month anniversary, and her hand moved to the matching bracelet she’d gotten for their six-month celebration. She looked around Morgan’s multi-million-dollar apartment and out of the expanse of glass to its priceless views. She’d moved in two months prior, giving up her apartment in Croyden the day her lease expired. And she thought to the environmentally friendly hybrid car that Morgan had given her just two weeks after that, to mark the fact that another of her houses was to be featured in
Architectural Digest
. “But you’ve given me so much . . .” Ally swiped at her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. If she were an outsider looking in, she might describe her as a gold digger too.
“I wish you were here. I miss you right now.”
“I miss you right now too, baby,” Morgan whispered. It was one of their more often repeated phrases, spoken via phone each day she was on location.
As was usual, that sentiment had led to a discussion of what they would do together when next they met. On that occasion it was a Sunday afternoon barbeque at Ally’s folks’ place. As Ally had predicted, her mum, and her dad too for that matter, had taken immediately to Morgan, and invitations for them all to spend time together were offered frequently. The first time Morgan came to dinner they’d gone to the extreme of laying the table. But they’d reverted to form for all subsequent visits, and casual, plate-on-the-lap dining was now the order of the day. Morgan loved it. And Ally loved it that Morgan had been so readily accepted as part of the family. She also loved the fact her parents had so readily accepted her “lifestyle change,” announcing that their only desire was to see their daughter happy. Which she obviously was.
This evening, however, Ally wasn’t exactly brimming over with happiness at their plans. Because what they had planned to do a few hours down the track was even more unsettling to Ally than the constant media attention that surrounded their relationship. They’d finally scheduled the activity she had successfully bid on at auction all those months ago, and tonight she and Morgan were to do the Sydney Harbor Bridge Climb.
“Come on, Ally,” Morgan urged her when, after another ten or so minutes, they were still purportedly waiting for Paterson to show. “If you want to have dinner before we ‘do it’ then we need to get going soon.”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I was feeling sick?” Ally said, only half joking.
“Nope.” Morgan pulled her to her feet.
“What if I said I am medically unable to go more than a meter above sea level?”
Morgan smiled wickedly. “Then I’d wonder why you were able to perform so brilliantly each time you’re in our ‘way above sea level’ bedroom.”
Ally couldn’t help but smile back. “What if I said I just didn’t want to do it?”
“Then I’d remind you of all the other things you didn’t want to do this year but have.” She drew Ally into her arms. “For a person who hates being the center of attention, you’ve certainly handled it very, very well.”
“Only because you’ve been there to hold my hand,” Ally murmured, reveling—as she always did—in the feel of Morgan’s body against her own. She still could not get enough of her. “What say we have a nice dinner then an early night? You’ll need it, what with your day of rehearsals tomorrow. We can’t have the host of the Logies looking like a worn-out wreck . . .”
“Nice try.” Morgan laughed. She held Ally at arm’s length. “Do you remember what you said the first time we ever had a shower together?”
Ally thought hard. It was in Barcelona, she remembered. But she’d been in such a state she could hardly think at all, never mind concentrate on specifics. “No,” she admitted.
“You said ‘I’ve got you,’” Morgan said softly. “And tonight, when we climb that bridge, I’ll be right behind you. So if you feel you’re going to slip or fall, you need not worry, because I’ve got you too.”