Eclipse

”You’re sleeping in the guest room now?” Nothing got past Abby, although this one had been easy to notice. Carol’s own bed appeared untouched, but the queen-sized one in the mauve room seemed inhabited. The bureau in front of the bed was overflowing with toiletries, a bottle of facial wash and a stick of deodorant, q-tips and cotton pads thrown in a disorderly box, and a tube of body cream, its cap left carelessly open. The curtains were drawn, denying the space natural light, which Abby found eerie and unsettling.

“The air’s better there…” Carol mumbled, avoiding looking at her friend, “less stuffy.” She walked by her and promptly closed the room’s door. She didn’t want Abby to pay any more attention to her living arrangement than she already had.  

Confused, Abby strode across the living room to check on the air conditioning in Carol’s bedroom. “There’s nothing wrong with the air in your room, darling,” she pointed out. “And you can always turn down the temperature, if it gets uncomfortable…”

“Give it a rest, will you!” Carol snapped at her unexpectedly. Seeing how startled Abby was by her fierce interruption, she frowned at her own harshness. “I’m sorry. I get edgy when I’m not sleeping well.” Carol’s faint apology was barely enough to assuage Abby.

“You need to get out of the house,” Abby stated. “Take long walks, go to a museum, see people…” She had no intention of being anything more than vague at this point, and for a good reason. Abby and Gen had learned about Carol’s fateful night from Carly. She hadn’t known the specifics, but she had told them about the unfortunate misunderstanding that had created the rift between Carol and Therese.

“I’m not at all convinced if it’s a good idea to meddle,” Gen had said, having listened to Carly. “It sounds like your sister has a lot to figure out, and so does Carol.” She had not only been thinking about Carol’s grief but also the unborn baby.

“Therese was just caught up in something she hadn’t yet had the time to bring to conclusion,” Carly had stressed. “I don’t think she should be punished for honesty, do you?”

Abby had remained quiet, listening to them. The straight rye whiskey she had been twirling around in her tumbler had stung her mouth like an abrupt warning. Carol was smart enough to see through any schemes, she had mused to herself. The scheme should therefore not resemble one at all. “No one should be punished or played,” she had said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do anything. We can provide them with… opportunities.”

Following Carol closely, Abby knew she would have to be very careful with what to say and to suggest. Carol was an emotional powder keg, and rubbed wrong way, the chips would most certainly fall where they may. And Abby still wasn’t sure of the one thing she had been slightly perturbed about: had Carol just toyed with the idea of falling for a woman or had she been serious about it? Abby was all too familiar with the concept of straight women experimenting, taking a trip to the so-called wild side. She may have urged Carol to give it a go, to have fun, but talking to Carly had made Therese real, too.

Seeing Carol so detached and somehow defunct, lounging around the house in a tacky flannel shirt, was a troubling image for Abby. The cool façade hid a multitude of emotions, Abby suspected, yet she couldn’t access them to help Carol in any way. She couldn’t even exploit the new information she had gleaned from the chance meeting with Carly. Were she to refer to anything that had taken place between Carol and Therese, Carol would find out about Carly and all Abby’s further actions would be brought under ruthless scrutiny. Her hands tied, Abby was understandably frustrated.

After Abby had left, Carol took a shower. Afterwards she moseyed around in mere bathrobe until she happened to stop in front of the mirror in the foyer. The silver pendant she had never taken off lay immobile on top of her sternum, the slanted light of the small hall hitting the round rims of its tiny holes. She let the robe part open altogether.

Carol caressed her belly and imagined it bulging, protruding out of her like a sly mushroom from a wet, spongy ground.  She couldn’t feel anything moving yet, and she wouldn’t, maybe not for another ten weeks or so. Still, it was there, the little kumquat with an ability to make her lose her breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Carol let her hands traverse across the abdomen, all the way down to where her thighs joined her torso. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had sex, and even though she very well knew it had been with Harge, she chose to think of sex as an act with no one else involved but herself. Even though she couldn’t recall making love, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t taken care of her own needs all this time. Carol had, several times, yet lately the pleasure it had afforded her had become weaker and more difficult to attain. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep it going where she desired it to gravitate.

Gazing in the mirror now, Carol was struck by a queer notion that she herself wasn’t the one doing the touching. Someone was close behind, her soft hand travelling below Carol’s waist. She closed her eyes to see better, to feel the movement she no longer recognized as her own.

The arousal was abrupt, defined and demanding. It searched an immediate outlet, clearing her mind of all unnecessary thought. Everything neatly compartmentalized cast aside, a yearning for release sought center stage on pliant ground. Carol tried to circumvent the obvious only to return to the point of entry, to the cusp of her reward that needed one last mental push. All she had to do was think of – Therese.

It tasted sweet, and it tasted sour, the tonic of the adept touch she imagined having a name. Coming down clouded the specter that haunted her; it made it feebler, yet not feeble enough for it not to linger on the outskirts of her mind. I’m fucked, Carol thought, utterly, miserably, but obviously not as much as I’d like to be.

Carol visited Abby, Gen and the boys over the weekend. The twins were bubblier than usual, their birthday coming up in just one week. Carol smiled at their excitement, listening to Mickey go on and on about the Iron Man costume he wanted to have for the superhero masquerade party.

“What are you going to wear, aunt Carol?” Mickey asked, skipping around her like a fiddle-footed puppy. He and Lou were having friends over, two girls about their age, Carol presumed. She hadn’t asked Abby or Gen about them, not deeming it necessary.

The news of the birthday being a masquerade had taken Carol by surprise, and she hadn’t had the chance to think it over. “I’m not going to tell you,” she said, laughing at Mickey’s frown. “It’ll be a surprise for you and Lou.”

Abby was busy making cocktails in the living room. The cracked ice clinked inside a cocktail shaker she was ready to fill with bourbon, vermouth and Angostura bitters. “I have my outfit right here,” Abby quipped, as the boys had retreated back to their room. Having cracked open a bottle of Maker’s Mark, she pointed it out to Carol. “I’ll be Jessica Jones,” Abby grinned, amused by her own stroke of genius. “After all I do have the superhuman endurance and strength demanded by our domestic bliss.”

Hearing her, Gen scoffed. “Not to mention the way you fly off the handle every so often…” She took the glass Abby was kind enough to offer her. “ I will be Diana Prince,” she winked at Carol.

“Wonder Woman?” Carol laughed. “You won’t even have to dress for the part, my dear.” For Carol, Gen represented a wondrous female indeed, thriving both as a loving mother and an astute professional. Carol couldn’t help but envy what her friends had, even though she was aware she was entitled to see only a fraction of it. No matter how close a confidante she was to Abby, she could still not understand all of it, neither the happiness nor the heartache that must come with a long partnership.

She hadn’t been all that forthcoming about her marriage to Harge either, though her reluctance had had nothing to do with doubting Abby’s ability to understand its changing currents. She had been more afraid to articulate them, to label her own misgivings with words and sentences she herself might not be able to escape once uttered out loud.

Carol took a sip of her ginger ale and frowned at its tame, uninspiring taste. The cocktail cherry Abby had plopped into her highball glass took a tumble in the effervescence, reminding her of the inevitable growth inside her.  “Did you guys have sex during pregnancy?” it occurred to her to ask.

Her eyes flickering of amusement, Abby glanced at Gen. “Oh boy, did we ever…” Blushing gently, Gen’s recollection of her nine months seemed somewhat embarrassed.

“We did,” she admitted, clearing her throat. “It was… needed.” Carol’s eyes darted from Gen to Abby and back, wondering if it would be proper to ask more about it. She didn’t have to.

“I’ll say!” Abby exclaimed. “She needed it ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME.” Giving up her prior coyness, Gen couldn’t help but snort. “I’d be at work and she would SUMMON me for a quickie,” Abby roared, reminiscing. “I could hardly get past the foyer let alone take off my coat,” she laughed. “Come to think of it, we most often didn’t,” she giggled. “The stories that bench could tell…” Abby’s voice had picked up a dreamy quality that was way too revelatory. “I LOVED pregnancy!” she summarized.           

“I’m glad one of us did,” Gen grunted, recalling the hardships of carrying two babies to full term instead of just one. “Although that part was fun. Once I got rid of the morning sickness, it was all I could think of…”

God, I’m horny as a toad already, ran across Carol’s mind.

“It didn’t show signs of weakening until it got exceedingly hard for me to even wobble into the bathroom,” Gen continued. “Not only did I have the huge belly to carry around but also an enormous bust to match…” she elaborated.

“OH YES!” Abby’s unabashed shout vibrated with sheer euphoria. “Gen looked like a Gina fucking Lollobrigida, ready to pop out of her bra any minute… I FUCKING LOVED, LOVED, LOVED pregnancy!”

Carol laughed at her friend’s saucy confession. She did remember Gen at the last stages of her gestation very vividly, the full, gaudily defined lips of hers and the overwhelming sensuousness she had seemed to embody. Abby had obviously done a splendid job, keeping Gen happy and satisfied all those months, and it made Carol wonder if anyone would find her equally attractive during this time she now faced.

The mirror image flashed back, the taste of it still lingering on her needy palate. Carol had kept her secret, hardly dormant, from Therese. Why should she have revealed it to Therese after what she had learned herself? What difference would it have made, and if it had, would she have even wanted it to be the thing affecting Therese? It was too late for her to brood over any of it, Carol decided, too late and useless.      

“Mom…” Lou was yanking the hem of Abby’s shirt. “Mom!” He was his usual impatient self.

“Mommy’s engaged in an adult conversation right now, sweetheart,” Abby said, not paying attention to her son’s need to interfere.

“Mom!!!” Lou insisted, not taking no for an answer.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Go harass your friends,” Abby snapped, eager to get back to what Carol and Gen were saying at the moment.

“Cass says Captain America is just a loser with stereos…” The way Lou put it caught Abby’s attention against her will.  She suppressed a smile, guessing whom Carly’s daughter must have gained her wisdom from.

“Umm… loser on steroids ?” Abby mumbled quizzically. “Steve Rogers was medically helped, but that doesn’t make anyone a loser, sweetie. Ask your psychotherapist mother, she knows all about it.” By the time Abby had turned to look at Gen, she was bubbling with laughter.

“Cass? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about her before,” Carol said, quirking her eyebrow at Lou. “Is she a new friend?” she wanted to know. Not surprisingly, Lou remained stubbornly mute.

Suddenly nervous, Abby glanced at Gen. “Oh, they’ve known each other forever, she’s a year older. A daughter of an old friend of mine,” she hastened to say. Abby was also acutely aware of the play date running out of time. Carly would pick up her girls any time now.  

“And what’s the other girl’s name?” Carol asked Lou, ignoring Abby’s remark.

“Dusty. She’s a cry baby,” Lou deemed dryly.

That makes a fine name for a… stripper, Carol mused, smiling at Lou’s apparent distaste for girls. “I don’t hear her crying at all,” she pointed out to him. “Will they be here for your birthday?” she asked further.

“I guess,” Lou groaned, ogling Abby whose contribution to his resentment he found lacking at best. Sighing, he took his leave and returned to the scene of Cass’ blasphemous crime.            

Luckily Carly didn’t pick up the girls until Carol had left. “I’m so sorry, the client was late and then it took longer than I expected,” she apologized, breezing in.

“No worries,” Abby grinned at her. “Carol was just here, and I would’ve hated to explain who you are…” she sighed, relieved.

“Anything to drink around here?” Carly asked hopefully. Abby was only too happy to oblige. When they had settled into a relaxed conversation of how well the kids had gotten along, Lou made another surprise appearance.

“Mom…” he started again, but this time Abby tried her best not to pay any attention to him at all. “MOM!!!” Lou shouted out to obtain her undivided attention.

“WHAT?” Abby yelled back, too irritated for her own good. “WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING AT ME?!?” She had just about had enough of her willful son’s total disregard of the grown-ups’ space.

“I want Therese to come to my birthday party.” Abby, Gen and Carly stared at Lou, not believing their ears.

“What did you just say, sweetheart?” Abby wanted to confirm, her voice dripping honey.

“I want Therese to come to my birthday party.” They had heard right the first time, no doubt about it.

“Lou…” Abby beamed at the little boy. “Lou… my darling, precious, ingenious boy… YOU are MY son,” she exclaimed, picking up the bewildered little fellow and flinging him up in the air.

One week later, Therese Belivet stood behind the front door of what she assumed to be a lavish apartment in a stately Manhattan brownstone. She didn’t know what she was doing there, why she had been invited in the first place. The only way Lou and his mother Abby could have gotten her address must have been from Carol. But it didn’t make any sense, for Carol didn’t want to see her. She hadn’t heard a word from her for weeks, and she had all but given up hope she ever would.

Ringing the doorbell, Therese took a deep breath. She heard kids’ feet stomping around, and then a set of adult footsteps entering the foyer. Adjusting the mask firmly on her face, she braced herself for whatever was about to happen.

Abby opened the door and smiled. Batman had arrived.