Solace & Rosanna Ch. 18

2003: Matilda Harper sat in her office, drumming her impeccably manicured finger nails on the top of her ultra-neat glass-covered desk. She glared at the telephone as if the instrument had offended her in some way. As far as Matilda was concerned, it had because Rosanna had once again rebuffed her dinner invitation, claiming she had important reports to finish. This excuse was beginning to wear thin and Matilda had slammed down the phone in frustration. She knew that Rosanna was still smarting over her abrupt departure, but it was a trip Matilda had to make—to clear her head. It had not worked as expected as her every waking thought was of Rosanna and their life together. Didn’t Rosanna realize that they needed to talk soon if they were to make any progress? She ignored the fact that Rosanna had wanted to do just that and she had told her that she needed time. Well, Rosanna had nearly slept with her old high school friend. Did she even trust Rosanna? She put her head in her hands and sighed in exasperation. She was so confused about the whole damned situation.

What was it about Rosanna Romero anyway? Surely, Matilda could find another smolderingly gorgeous, Latin woman who made her skin tingle at the slightest touch of her hand or brush of her full, sensuous lips. She opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved a silk handkerchief and dabbed at her brow, cheeks and upper lip. She got up, crossed to the window and switched on the air conditioner, turning it up to the frigid setting. That was much better. Such was the effect that Rosanna had on her and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. Matilda began pacing her spacious office, her low heels sinking into the plush carpeting. Why couldn’t she simply cut Rosanna loose? She knew the answer. Rosanna was hers now and she would not give her up without a fight. She knew that Rosanna found her sexually attractive, but Rosanna had never told her she loved her. Of course, Matilda had not uttered those words either. There was definitely a power struggle going on between them. Matilda had fought long and hard to gain what power and control she felt she now possessed and Rosanna was a part of that never-ending quest.

Matilda did not harbor any ill-will towards Solace, but she believed that she was a better life-mate for Rosanna because she could see. There were obvious, visual activities that she and Rosanna could share that Rosanna and Solace would never be able to enjoy. She winced at this as it sounded cold and unfeeling when thrust under the glaring light of reflection, but it was the truth, nonetheless.

It had been a month since she had seen or spoken to Rosanna, and she was beginning to genuinely miss her company—not to mention Rosanna’s other talents. Rosanna possessed a wit that beguiled and challenged Matilda in a way no other lover had.

The phone jolted Matilda out of her musings. She snatched up the receiver, hoping briefly it might be Rosanna. It couldn’t be; she had just hung up on her only a short time ago. She glanced at her watch; an hour had passed. Upon hearing the enticing timbre of Rosanna’s voice, Matilda’s heart-rate sped up and she sat down in her visitor’s chair. Get a hold of yourself, woman, she chided herself.

“Mattie?” Rosanna asked, her mouth dry with nerves.

“Rosanna?” Matilda answered in what sounded to her like a voice riddled with insecurity.

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Friday night?”

Had Matilda heard correctly? “I…uh… Let me check my calendar.” She held the phone away from her mouth for a few seconds as if checking her omni-present date book. This would have been impossible from this position as it was in her desk drawer and Matilda was rooted to her seat, holding the handset in a death-grip.

“Uhm…I think I can do that.” Her voice cracked slightly and she cleared her throat.”

“Great. We’ll go to Fresh Basil’s. I don’t think I want to do La Contessa’s again. Is that all right?”

“Sure. I think that’s probably wise.”

“Okay, then, I’ll pick you up there and we’ll just walk down.”

Finding a shred of dignity, Matilda said, “We have to talk.”

“I know. We will. I’ll see you on Friday.” With those words, Rosanna hung up.

Matilda sat there for several minutes and then a slow smile made it’s way across her face. What had happened to her playing hard to get and being the one in charge? Who cared? In Matilda’s mind, she still had won as it was obvious that Rosanna wanted…needed to see her as well. Of course, Rosanna might… No, that was not a possibility.

2002

The crisp April air blew through Rosanna’s hair, chilling her slightly but making her feel refreshed and rejuvenated as she sped down Fifth Avenue on her racing bike. Although the day was bright with sunshine, she was glad she had worn her Getting Started With jacket; it was lightweight yet warm. The sidewalk was dotted with Saturday strollers and parents pushing baby strollers. The steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art were strewn with visitors in spite of the brisk wind. Both native New Yorkers and tourists steadfastly held to the notion that spring was here and they should be out in droves. They would enjoy the relatively warm day; at least the temperature was in the low fifties as opposed to the blustery thirties and forties.

The huge, colorful banner advertising the exhibit of African-American prints from 1929 to 1945 caught Rosanna’s eye and she slowed her furious pumping to read the information. She enjoyed experiencing artwork from all cultures and was pleased that the museum would be hosting this particular collection as it was unfamiliar to her. Rosanna came to a stop, removed her headphones and sunglasses, reached into her fanny pack and extracted her mini-disk recorder. Bike riding provided the opportunity for her to clear her mind while conditioning her body, but she did not want to clear out the fact that she wanted to see this exhibit. She did not always find herself pedaling down Fifth Avenue; so she took the unexpected viewing of the banner as a good sign. Wistfully, she wished that Solace could share this activity with her. She had not even thought to ask Solace if she rode a bike. But, of course, that would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it? She made a point to ask her. However, if Solace did admit to indulging in that dangerous pastime (especially in New York City), then Rosanna would have to run straight to her doctor’s office for a prescription for high blood pressure medication because she would surely be a nervous wreck from that moment on. Maybe she would shelve that conversation for now. Concluding her memo, she returned her mini-disk to her bag. She stood there, taking in the majesty of the museum and pondered the treasures within. How could she and Solace share this pastime? Would Solace be able to see the artwork, prints, statuary and other object d’art? How was it that they had known each other for four years and had never discussed the issue? They enjoyed lengthy discourses on many topics, had even shared some heated disagreements, which had somehow often wound up in the bedroom. Rosanna smiled at this thought. The subject of art had never come up. Rosanna supposed it was just one more area about which she was too embarrassed to inquire. In any event, she would go to this exhibit. She hopped on her bike and sped off.

Matilda Harper sat on a folded plastic bag on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art watching the passing hordes. She had decided to take a well-needed break from her hectic day at the law office. Her position as an Executive Legal Secretary kept her on a tight-wire. The money and perks were excellent but the hours were brutal. She could barely adhere to a decent lunch hour so she grabbed snatches of breaks whenever she could decently get away without raising too many eyebrows. She pulled her blazer tighter around her slim form as the wind whipped through her sleek, blond hair. As she reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes, she noticed a well-muscled figure brake their bike, pull out what looked like a small recorder and begin speaking into it. Matilda’s eyes narrowed as she took in the woman’s physique. As Matilda wore sunglasses, she did not believe the other woman could see her blatant ogling. Her eyes moved from the top of shiny, black tresses to the tip of top-brand sneakers—and all points in between. What portion of the woman’s skin Matilda could see was a smooth, milk-chocolate color and when the woman removed her own shades, Matilda caught sight of the most beautiful face she had ever seen. All-in-all, the woman was positively stunning. Matilda was taken aback by her visceral reaction as she considered herself quite reserved and conservative by today’s standards.

She watched as the woman got back on her bike and rode off, noting the Getting Started With logo on the back of her red and black jacket. She tried to clear her mind, but the vision of the stranger, gazing at the museum, looking so incredibly sexy would not dissipate.

Matilda’s thoughts turned to her on-again, off-again relationship with L. D. Currently, they were semi-on, which meant they occasionally had dinner together and shared what they referred to as a “session”, but were free to see other people as long as they practiced safe-sex. It was an arrangement that seemed to suit them as they felt that neither was ready for a committed relationship. Matilda glanced at her watch and realized that she had taken a longer break than was planned. She stood hurriedly, collected her belongings and headed back to her office, a secret, sad smile on her lovely face. Would she ever see the beautiful stranger again? She supposed that there was a slim chance as New York City was not as large as it might seem. Her mind’s eye flashed back to the Getting Started With logo on the woman’s jacket. Was that a company? She would do a little searching. She would also make it her business to visit the museum a bit more often.

The following Saturday morning found Solace visiting her family and Rosanna standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She ran up the steps and through the entrance. She deliberately carried her few items in a small leather pouch, as she was aware that security would be tight and backpacks were discouraged. She walked to the information desk, collected a brochure for the exhibit and made her way through the myriad corridors to her desired goal. She was fascinated by the prints, which were both in bold colors as well as black and white. She wondered at an artist’s decision to create what might be called stereotypical characters. She was so engrossed with the fine artwork she barely noticed the time. Her knee let her know. It never ceased to amaze her that she could cycle for lengthy periods of time, but standing too long would cause her excruciating pane in her right knee. She had arrived at the museum at eleven o’clock and it was now one. She wandered from room to room one last time (working out the stiffness in her knee), and decided to purchase the book, which contained all of the pictures of the exhibit. She had been powerfully affected. The art had evoked feelings of tenderness as well as great anger, and she wanted a memento.

She left the exhibit, found an information desk and asked where she might find the gift shop. Rosanna weaved through the boisterous crowds, her short boot heels rapping purposefully on the polished floor. She located the gift shop, which was also surprisingly jammed. “Tourists”, she grumbled as she stood in the entrance, taking in the store. Spotting the book, she strode toward the shelf with single-minded determination. She reached for the book and collided with a woman reaching for the same item at the same time. Their arms became entangled and Rosanna landed on the woman’s right foot.

“Ouch!” The woman shrieked.

“I’m so sorry,” Rosanna stammered as she disengaged herself from a slim, blond woman of approximately the same height as herself, “I wasn’t paying attention. The exhibit was so intense and I was so intent on getting the book that I—“

“I know. You didn’t see me,” finished the other woman, rubbing her foot through her shoe. Without thinking, she leaned on Rosanna’s shoulder.

Rosanna stood there motionless. What could she say or do? She had stomped on the poor woman’s foot. The least she could do was allow her to lean on her shoulder for a bit. She finally said, “Are you all right?”

Matilda looked up quickly, her breath catching in her throat and she froze.

“I’m…uh…I’m….okay. Thank you,” Matilda said as she realized on whom her hand rested. She knew she ought to remove it, but it seemed glued to the spot. For this particular shoulder belonged to HER cyclist. Their eyes locked and Rosanna smiled, as did Matilda. She felt like a character in one of those trashy romance novels who swoons when she meets Mr. or Ms. Right.

“Can I at least pay for the book or something?” Rosanna asked sheepishly.

“Uh…no… That’s all right.” Matilda reluctantly removed her hand from Rosanna’s shoulder, straightened her skirt and tried to compose herself. Believing that she would not be offered another chance to spot this woman, she took a bold stance and blurted,, “If you really want to make sure I’m okay, you can invite me for coffee.”

Rosanna raised an eyebrow at this obvious flirtatious invitation. She knew she hadn’t hurt the woman severely, but she decided to be just a bit wicked.

“I could do that, but I could also take you to an emergency room to make sure your foot is all right,” she said with mock seriousness.

“No… I mean, my foot is fine. Thank you,” said Matilda as she grabbed two copies of the book and handed one to Rosanna.

“Thank you,” said Rosanna in her most sultry tone. Wait until she told Solace about this little incident. But should she tell Solace? After all, she was flirting with quite an attractive woman. Solace was fairly casual about their relationship, but she might be pushing it with this one.

“You’re welcome.” Matilda saw the change come over Rosanna’s face and felt disappointment spreading like a weed through her system. She turned and walked to the cashier,; Rosanna followed. They paid for their purchases and left the museum.

Outside on the steps, they faced each other, taking in the other woman’s style of dress, hair color, eye color and myriad details. Matilda said, “You’re right, though. The exhibit was exquisite…the colors, the subjects, the emotion...”.

“Yes, it was very powerful. I’m really sorry, though, that I smashed your foot,” Rosanna began. “Maybe I can buy you that coffee.” It was, after all, only coffee.

“Is it going to be a problem for you?” asked Matilda holding her breath.

Rosanna rolled the question around in her mind and finally said, “No. It’s not a problem. But what’s your name?”

“Matilda Harper and yours?”

“Rosanna Romero.” She would simply tell Solace that she was meeting a friend for lunch. Certainly there was nothing wrong with that. They made plans to meet and walked away in opposite directions. As they walked, each turned and caught the other watching them. Both women blushed and turned quickly away.