Rameau's Niece

I observed then, she thought. I observed every nuance of every sweep of his arm. I observed him and the air around him, the air he breathed.

Well, those days are over. Not a student anymore. Thank God and Madame de Montigny, not a teacher either, but not a student enthralled in a class. Now my husband has other students and I must make my own classes. Lily will be my class. I will study Lily.

Lily's buzzer was broken as usual, the front door unlocked, and Margaret hurried up the flight of dark stairs. Lily opened her door, and Margaret forgot Edward, forgot her reservations. Lily's eyes looked bigger and darker. The scent of roses, faint and uncertain, was on Lily's cheek when Margaret kissed it, a hello kiss, familiar, but not the same now. Lily's cheek was soft, softer than a man's, softer even than a boy's, Margaret thought. As soft as a woman's cheek, genius.

Lily's lips touched her cheek lightly. "Margaret, why didn't you call?"

The last time I saw you, Margaret thought, I said to myself, I am walking toward Lily and I am going to kiss her on the lips. Everything dissolved but that one thought: I am walking toward Lily and I am going to kiss her on the lips. Then I didn't. But now I will.

Lily closed the door and began to say something but stopped. Perhaps she stopped because Margaret put her hand on Lily's waist. Margaret felt the curve of it and found it even more difficult to breathe. She put her other hand on Lily's waist.

"Margaret?" Lily whispered in her tart whisper through her tart lips, a whisper and lips Margaret had always found so amusing in their contrast to what Lily said. But now they didn't seem amusing at all. They didn't seem to be in contrast to anything at all. They seemed like red lips and a soft, questioning whisper.

"Margaret?" Lily whispered again, almost alarmed, almost as alarmed as I am, Margaret thought.

Margaret said, "I, um, well..."

She ran her hand up Lily's back, moving closer to her, moving very close to her, thinking, No wonder men like women, no wonder men like to touch women. Lily was wearing a bathrobe. She realized that for the first time now, a vintage satin bathrobe, beneath which she felt Lily, her hands felt Lily. One hand caught in the tie. The robe was opening in the front revealing one of Lily's round, large breasts.

Yikes, Margaret thought.

"Margaret, hold on—"

Hold on? Hold on to what? The room looked funny, dim and far away. Her face was pressed against Lily's short black hair. She could feel a woman's body against hers, a naked female breast, a crushed satin bathrobe, a curved waist beneath her hands, a smooth, rose-scented neck beneath her lips, soft lips beneath her own lips.

"Margaret, for Christ sake, take it easy—"

Take it easy?

Lily stepped back and gently pushed Margaret away.

"Look, Margaret, I mean I never expected this, I didn't know you, well ... but I'm flattered, sort of, but, what are you"—she bit her lip, her pretty lip—"doing? Exactly?"

Exactly? Margaret thought. Exactly, I am holding on to a half-naked woman's gently curved waist. Exactly!

"Lily?" said a voice.

Whose voice is that? Margaret wondered. It's not Lily's voice. It's not my voice, although it's somehow almost my voice. It's as familiar as my voice. It's a man's voice. It's Edward's voice, actually.

Margaret let go of Lily's waist.

"Lily, I need a towel," said the voice.

The voice needed a towel. Edward's voice needed a towel. Why would Edward's voice be in Lily's apartment and in need of a towel? Well, it wouldn't unless it was wet. Why would Edward's voice be wet? Well, it wouldn't unless it was taking a shower. In Lily's apartment.

"Edward?" Margaret whispered. She looked at Lily, who turned away, tying her robe around her tighter.

"Edward?" Margaret said again.

"But, Margaret..." Lily said.

Margaret stared at her. She sensed that her mouth was open, that she ought to close it.

"Lily, how could you do this to me?" she said instead.

"But—"

"You hung around flirting with me to get to my husband?"

But even as she said it, Margaret knew it was a meaningless accusation. Lily flirted with everyone, male or female. She smiled and turned her head cunningly, just so, to show her dimples. She didn't have dimples, but it didn't matter. Her life was a flirtation, from morning till dark. At breakfast, the blushing cereal suspected, hoped, but never knew. At bedtime, its heart pounding, her pillow lowered its eyes, speechless and confused.

"With you? Margaret," Lily was saying, "you're married."

"So is Edward," Margaret said. "To me" She was enraged. She had fallen for the wiles of a girl, and they weren't even wiles! "You've betrayed me and ... and all women."

"Margaret, don't be an ass. Nothing happened."

"Oh, please."

Lily put a hand through her hair and sighed. "Nothing happened, Margaret, okay? Maybe it should have," she added, almost to herself.

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