Read Online An Emergence of Green by Katherine V Forrest - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine V Forrest
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want—to yourself, if to no one else.
—I’ll admit nothing. All the choices I’ve made, even if they turned out wrong, seemed best for me. I have a choice about everything. Look at me, Alix. I’m independent. Free.
—Free? You’ve let everyone else dictate how you’ve lived. And when you finally couldn’t stand it anymore you withdrew completely. Soon you’ll be totally consumed by your art because there isn’t anything else. Maybe you’ll even devour your son.
It had been six months since she last heard from Alix. “Why Houston?” she had asked her.
“Because Helen came out to her parents and they want nothing to do with her. She wants to be with friends in Houston. There’s a large gay community there. And because I need to get away from you—to finally break the tie.”
She would hear from Alix, of course. They had been supreme presences in each other’s lives since the year they lived together. Alix—tiny, blonde, desired by men who expired like moths against her brilliant cold flame—was right. Val knew Alix loved her, and the depth and sexuality of that love. After Alix had turned in anger from her to other women she had never taken any of Alix’s lovers seriously, including the current Helen. Val had basked in Alix’s love; she missed it. If a man could ever love her like that…What Alix perceived in her and was attracted to was the androgyny all good artists must possess, nothing more…It was the reason for her own attraction to Alix.
That Helen’s parents had disowned Helen was additional proof, if more was needed, that a lesbian lifestyle was a complication anyone should avoid who had any choice in the matter. She certainly had a choice. Bad enough to lack anything resembling a fashionable female body let alone the height and size and physical strength and deep voice and aggressive personality to go with it. Bad enough that because most people assumed she was a lesbian she had to wear her two failed marriages and her production of a son like a badge. Why on earth should she seek further ostracism?
Neal came in. She closed the sketch pad, slid it in among the stack on the coffee table, and leaned forward for his hug. She followed him into the kitchen, listening to his chatter with one level of consciousness, thinking that she should have Carolyn Blake come over soon. Neal would love Carolyn.
Chapter 11
Carolyn walked down the path beside Val Hunter’s house, her thoughts a confused jumble. How would she handle this with Paul? Not only was it impossible to maintain the secrecy of her friendship with Val, but how would she explain the painting? She regretted her impulsive act only in the moment before she remembered the gray peace of the painting and her feeling as she stood before it in the heat of Val Hunter’s house. No, she wanted that painting to hang in her house. She was lucky to have a chance to buy it—and she would buy it, no matter what Val said—and she was lucky to be able to afford it. But how to handle this with Paul?
“Why Carolyn, hello! What a surprise to see you over here!”
“Hello,” she said tightly to Dorothy Robinson, annoyed at being startled, that her thought process had been interrupted.
“You’ve been visiting Mrs. Hunter, how lovely. She and her boy are so nice. Don’t you think so?” She took a step closer to Carolyn, the point of her sharp nose quivering like the antenna of an insect. “Do you know them well?”
“No, not well.” Carolyn edged away from her, backing down the path. “I’ve got to run. Paul will be home soon—”
“You must come over, Carolyn, you and Paul. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course, Dorothy, but with each of us working different hours, well, you know…” Impatient and exasperated, she finally made her escape.
“I’ve bought a painting from Val Hunter.” She had decided that the best approach was direct—like the clean simplicity of a Val Hunter dive—but during the conviviality of dinner
—I’ll admit nothing. All the choices I’ve made, even if they turned out wrong, seemed best for me. I have a choice about everything. Look at me, Alix. I’m independent. Free.
—Free? You’ve let everyone else dictate how you’ve lived. And when you finally couldn’t stand it anymore you withdrew completely. Soon you’ll be totally consumed by your art because there isn’t anything else. Maybe you’ll even devour your son.
It had been six months since she last heard from Alix. “Why Houston?” she had asked her.
“Because Helen came out to her parents and they want nothing to do with her. She wants to be with friends in Houston. There’s a large gay community there. And because I need to get away from you—to finally break the tie.”
She would hear from Alix, of course. They had been supreme presences in each other’s lives since the year they lived together. Alix—tiny, blonde, desired by men who expired like moths against her brilliant cold flame—was right. Val knew Alix loved her, and the depth and sexuality of that love. After Alix had turned in anger from her to other women she had never taken any of Alix’s lovers seriously, including the current Helen. Val had basked in Alix’s love; she missed it. If a man could ever love her like that…What Alix perceived in her and was attracted to was the androgyny all good artists must possess, nothing more…It was the reason for her own attraction to Alix.
That Helen’s parents had disowned Helen was additional proof, if more was needed, that a lesbian lifestyle was a complication anyone should avoid who had any choice in the matter. She certainly had a choice. Bad enough to lack anything resembling a fashionable female body let alone the height and size and physical strength and deep voice and aggressive personality to go with it. Bad enough that because most people assumed she was a lesbian she had to wear her two failed marriages and her production of a son like a badge. Why on earth should she seek further ostracism?
Neal came in. She closed the sketch pad, slid it in among the stack on the coffee table, and leaned forward for his hug. She followed him into the kitchen, listening to his chatter with one level of consciousness, thinking that she should have Carolyn Blake come over soon. Neal would love Carolyn.
Chapter 11
Carolyn walked down the path beside Val Hunter’s house, her thoughts a confused jumble. How would she handle this with Paul? Not only was it impossible to maintain the secrecy of her friendship with Val, but how would she explain the painting? She regretted her impulsive act only in the moment before she remembered the gray peace of the painting and her feeling as she stood before it in the heat of Val Hunter’s house. No, she wanted that painting to hang in her house. She was lucky to have a chance to buy it—and she would buy it, no matter what Val said—and she was lucky to be able to afford it. But how to handle this with Paul?
“Why Carolyn, hello! What a surprise to see you over here!”
“Hello,” she said tightly to Dorothy Robinson, annoyed at being startled, that her thought process had been interrupted.
“You’ve been visiting Mrs. Hunter, how lovely. She and her boy are so nice. Don’t you think so?” She took a step closer to Carolyn, the point of her sharp nose quivering like the antenna of an insect. “Do you know them well?”
“No, not well.” Carolyn edged away from her, backing down the path. “I’ve got to run. Paul will be home soon—”
“You must come over, Carolyn, you and Paul. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course, Dorothy, but with each of us working different hours, well, you know…” Impatient and exasperated, she finally made her escape.
“I’ve bought a painting from Val Hunter.” She had decided that the best approach was direct—like the clean simplicity of a Val Hunter dive—but during the conviviality of dinner
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