Excerpt from
In Every Port
© Karin Kallmaker, 1990
No portion of
this work may be reproduced by any means
without express written consent of the publisher.
From Chapter 1
She'd been waiting for a condo in a cut-up Victorian to become available for almost three years. She knew of people who'd waited for six or seven years, but that was the extreme in San Francisco. She was glad waiting had taken as long as it had. Now she was in a stronger financial position because of some hard, non-stop work. What with the 16% interest rates on her mortgage, she needed every penny she could get together for a down payment.
The last twelve years had been hard work, but work was everything. With her parents dying when she was nineteen and leaving her with only her own resources to guide her, she had pursued a business degree, then her MBA. Ever since she had discovered she enjoyed public speaking, she'd been laboring to get her name known on the circuit, working to bring assertiveness out of the dark ages and make businesspeople realize it wasn't just a fancy word for "aggressive" -- or, when men applied to it to women, "bitchy."
"Ms. Brian? This way please."
The pleasant voice belonged to a pleasant woman who, in an accordingly pleasant manner, began going through the papers and waivers and affidavits and notes and statements of escrow. Reviewing the paperwork took far longer than Jessica had thought it would, but she finally signed on the last dotted line.
"And here are your keys, Ms. Brian. We're so pleased to have done business with you." The woman smiled pleasantly as she handed over a small envelope. Jessica smiled back pleasantly and said how glad she was to have done business with "them." She hated it when companies forgot they were people, and they forgot their customers were people, too.
Vince, President and Founder of Vince's Rapid Move, grinned cheekily at her and took a key and her list of instructions.
"No problem, lady, we'll leave the old apartment key at the office and push the key to the condo under the door when we're through. We'll be done on Wednesday, no problem. We do rush jobs all the time."
"I've marked all the boxes and the rooms will be marked."
"No problem, we do this kind of stuff all the time."
"Thank you." As Jessica walked back to the street to hail a cab to her new home, the box balanced on the other shoulder, she tried to shake her uneasy feeling.
But the last twenty-four hours seemed almost worth the hassle when she unlocked the building door and then took the old-fashioned cage elevator three floors to the top. There were two doors across from each other in the little lobby on the third floor. The one to the left was all hers -- and the mortgage company's. She'd never been to her new home alone, only with the real estate agent. She turned the key and opened the door. She wandered from room to room, sighing with delight.
The joyful completion she felt had been a long time coming. She had put work before play insistently, single-mindedly. And now she had her own place, big enough so the sofa, bed and desk weren't all in the same cramped room. There was enough space for her books and her records and her new VCR. Enough room to do sit ups without having to move the coffee table. Enough room to live, finally. With a giggle of sheer happiness, she threw out her arms and twirled around the living room like Julie Andrews on the mountaintop at the beginning of The Sound of Music.
She went around and hung signs for the movers: BEDROOM, OFFICE, DESK HERE, ENTERTAINMENT CENTER HERE, and so on. The place shouldn't be too bad when she got back, provided they could read English. She put the roll of toilet paper on its holder, the paper towels in the kitchen, the soda in the refrigerator, and then filled the ice tray. When she got back on Friday there would at least be something cold to drink.
She was left with an empty box, except for the political flyer. She had ceased to be interested in politics when Richard Nixon had thumbed his nose at the Constitution and received an unconditional pardon for his deeds. Jimmy Carter seemed like a very nice man. At least he believed in human rights.
But this petition drive was for a proposal sponsored by State Senator John Briggs to save the country's children by barring any homosexual person from teaching in public schools. The mere idea frightened and angered her at the same time. She shredded the flyer and decided to forget about it. She knew it was easy to forget about things which made you angry and frightened if you'd had a lot of practice.
She locked the door and went down to the manager's office, found out about the mail, how she paid the residents' association fees, and listened to a variety of rules about stereos and so on. Glancing at her watch in sudden alarm, she said goodbye to the manager and dashed out the building door. There was a muffled exclamation and Jessica realized her impetuous exit had almost knocked someone over.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Here, let me hold the door for you. I usually look where I'm going," Jessica explained. She could only see the top of a blonde head and two brown eyes behind two large grocery bags. "Can I help you?"
"No," the woman gasped, "I do this all the time." The woman hupped the bags up once and Jessica noticed the strong hands and arms gripping the bags. They seemed out of proportion with the woman's petiteness. Letting the door close, Jessica registered the brown eyes, which had either been sparkling with annoyance or laughter, and dashed for the bus.
Back in her apartment, she cleaned out the refrigerator there as her last effort, picked up her suitcase, and left. She'd lived there for almost four years, but she wasn't sorry to be leaving -- it was cramped and dark. And there was that one memory she hoped she could put behind her at last.
She had been cruel. There was no way around the truth. She and Alice had slept together several times, and yet when Alice showed up one day unexpectedly Jessica had been completely at a loss about how to act. Spontaneity had never been her strong point.
"I wasn't aware I needed to make an appointment," Alice had said coldly.
"I'm very busy. I told you that," she had snapped.
"I see," Alice had said, even more coldly. "Lovers and clients are the same thing."
"My schedule is very tight," Jessica had maintained. "I wish you had called first."
"I doubt I'll call again," Alice had said, walking out the door. "You're wonderful in bed, Jessica, but I don't feel like being squeezed in between appointments."
She had been honest with Alice about being busy. She had made her no-commitments policy clear to Alice, just as she had to everyone since she'd been on her own. But then, Herself recalled, you pursued her. You called her two or three times over two weeks. You rushed her along because it felt good for someone to be there -- on your terms.
The last she had heard from Alice had been only a few months ago. Alice had joined the People's Temple, a religious cult of some sort. She had cut the conversation short, embarrassed by Alice's pleading with her for money for the Temple's relocation to some South American location. Alice had declared Jessica would repent her sins if she came to just one service.
Sins? Jessica told Herself she had no sins. Her lifestyle was just ... temporary.
She caught the last possible airport express which would get her to her plane on time and stared out the window. Ever since Alice she'd sworn she'd never get involved with anyone in San Francisco. Affairs would just distract her and make her not want to work so much. It was much, much easier to just call someone she'd met when she got to any particular city. A few hours of pleasure was the only commitment she made and if emotions ran too high there would always be her schedule to take her away again.
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In Every Port is a lesbian romance
set in the events of 1978 San Francisco, by Karin Kallmaker.
Available from:
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