"I agreed to this before I met you! It's for charity," Taryn mumbled, looking away.

"I'm playing with you, baby. You can do anything you want."

"You're okay with me going on a date with someone else?" Taryn asked, anger creeping into her voice.

"Did I say that? No, I'm far too reactionary to be okay with you dating anyone else. I'm okay with you volunteering to help Egyptia with the fundraiser. I'm going to be front row center, with the biggest pile of cash in the known world," Rosalind said, taking the coffee mug from Taryn's hands. She smiled at Taryn from over the rim. They became aware of the rapt attention from everyone else in the kitchen, watching them like a tennis match.

"You can go back to eating now," Taryn growled.

"This is much more interesting," Joe said, ignoring Taryn's evil look.

It was like tearing off her own skin, when Rosalind finally made the move toward the door. Taryn didn't want to help, so she didn't. She kept distracting Rosalind with everything she could think of, and succeeded, for another hour and a half. Finally Rosalind begged for mercy, and Taryn relented, walking her to the front steps. She hung her head, refusing to let go of Rosalind's waist. "You sure you want to leave?" she asked again.

Rosalind's eyes snapped open. She grabbed Taryn and hugged her hard enough to crush the breath from her lungs. "I never want to leave. But I have to. I have to get ready for cla.s.s. My brother's coming into town tonight. I'll see you at seven."

"It's too long," Taryn said stubbornly.

"You have to work out with Joe, I heard you promise him. And you should have some time to yourself. We were able to manage as quite independent people, oh, three or four days ago. We can do this," Rosalind said with a smile in her voice.

"I don't want to manage. I want to drown in you. I want to keep you under me until I don't know if it's my blood or yours running in my veins," Taryn said, her eyes pinning Rosalind. "I love you. It's like saying the world is round. The words aren't big enough anymore."

Rosalind ran her fingers through the spiky black hair still disordered from their pa.s.sion. She touched the back of her hand to Taryn's cheek. "I never thought I'd be standing with my lover, looking into her devastating eyes, after a night like the one we just spent. I love you too, Taryn. The words aren't big enough."

Back at her apartment, Rosalind opened the door to a swirl of dust and a handful of leaves, like opening the door to an abandoned house. She must have left a window open, she thought. Dust didn't have time to gather in her apartment before she eradicated it. The air was cool, hanging without movement, undisturbed by life. It was too much like the air in a tomb, and it brought back a snippet of conversation she'd had with Rhea. It was like trying to catch the shadow of a hummingbird in her bare hand, recalling what had been said. Rosalind concentrated, but it only made her head ache.

The blinking light on her answering machine told her that someone in the world loved her, outside of the house at 34 Mariner. It was a strange thing to be reminded of. Was it only Wednesday now? How could her whole life have changed so quickly? She'd gone to Marcella's on Friday night, the blind date with Greg. Rosalind smothered a giggle at that memory. The poor man, having his date stolen away from him. She felt a moment of sympathy for him, Taryn's love making her feel expansive. It would be a crime if people lived and died without feeling the way she felt now.

Rosalind hit the b.u.t.ton and walked into the kitchen, throwing her keys on the counter.

The long beeeeep sounded, then Ellie's voice poured into the living room. "It's me. It's Tuesday. You didn't call me on Monday, so I guess you went ahead with the plan to entrap Elvis. Let me know how the Wild Kingdom is going, Marlon Perkins. I'll be right behind you with the tranquilizer gun. Say hi to Eric for me. Wednesday, right? I have cla.s.s, but thanks for the invite. He's a doll. To bad he's taken. Sigh. Love you."

Beeeeep. "Rosalind, this is Dr. Grey. Please call me."

Beeeeep. "So, I was asking my students, what is the definition of absence? We decided it was when someone you love doesn't call you for three days in a row when you leave them countless messages. I've got it! You haven't called because aliens have kidnapped you and are performing unspeakable acts on your body. One alien, at least, and I'll bet it's unspeakable." Ellie's voice chided her from the machine.

Beeeeep. "Hey, Sis. Sandhya and I will see you at seven. Anchor Bar good? Bye." It was her brother's voice, surprisingly like hers, even with the depth of it. She smiled to hear it.

Eric had been her best friend growing up, so much so that when Rosalind went away to college, he'd taken it as a personal abandonment. She'd missed his high school years, seeing him only in snapshots of visits home. When she'd left Poughkeepsie, he'd been an awkward, gangly boy in the full horror of adolescence. In a matter of visits he'd grown tall, filled out, his body transformed into a hulking young man. The boy she remembered, who couldn't wait to tell her everything about his friends, his projects, the books he read, was now unable to more than grunt when he shambled through the room.

It had been as personal a betrayal to her, his journey into his teenage years. It was a foreign place. Suddenly her wisdom no longer had any bearing on his experiences. Her advice was less than useless. A teenage boy has no use for an older sister, particularly one who was too bookish to offer sound dating advice.

It wasn't until she was at Cornell, buried in her PhD, that she'd gotten to know him again. He'd gone off to college a few months before. Rosalind remembered seeing him off with the awkward one-armed hug that her family employed for public leave-taking. She'd returned to Ithaca, the sadness old enough now that she didn't feel it as a fresh loss. Her baby brother was leaving to find himself, outside of Poughkeepsie. If he'd asked, she might have been able to identify the depth of the stabbing pain that took her breath, just for a moment. He didn't ask, and she had stopped offering.

The phone call at midnight was unusual. For a moment she thought it was Paul. He was off visiting his family, making plans for their wedding in the spring. The male voice was ripping with excitement, a voice strange enough to her that she couldn't place it until he said her name. "Ros? It's Eric." The first thought was, Disaster.

"Are you okay?" Rosalind had blurted out, unable to think of another reason he'd be calling her. He laughed. It was the first time she'd ever heard that laugh from him, a man's laughter.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Better than okay. Ros, I'm in love."

The story had poured out of him in a rush, while Rosalind sat listening with a stunned tenderness. Who was this gregarious young man, his conversational skills unleashed by falling in love? He'd met Sandhya Bharadwaj in a computer science cla.s.s. They ended up in the same study group. They'd started e-mailing one another. Joy made hash of the story. Eric threw details in at random, conveying his delight with everything about this girl.

"She's gorgeous. She's brilliant. She's gorgeous. She can seem so nice and sweet, then cut you to ribbons and you won't even see it coming," Eric had said, reeling on the line like a drunken Boy Scout.

"She sounds wonderful. When do I get to meet her? Are you going to bring her home for Thanksgiving?"

"No. That's kinda why I called," Eric had said.

Rosalind, who had been delighted with the sound of Eric's voice, listened to it go flat in a heartbeat. "Tell me what's up," she'd said to the man who was still her baby brother.

There was a moment of silence, then Eric began. "I was gonna bring her home for Thanksgiving. I mean try, anyway. I called home. I told Mom about Sandhya. Well, you know Mom. She didn't take it well that Sandhya's Indian. Gave me the minispeech about dating suitability, all that s.h.i.t. So I said I'm not coming home without her. Can we stay with you?"

There had been things she could have said-her place was very small, she was working all the time, she and Paul were planning their wedding. Rosalind said yes without hesitation.

It had been the start of years of campaigning. Rosalind had gotten to know Sandhya and had been charmed to the core. Eric was a different person around this fiercely intelligent young woman. Sandhya argued with him, challenged him, and looked at him with a tenderness Rosalind could not believe. She'd taken up the banner for them before the first afternoon was over.

It had been Rosalind's idea to approach their mother, to spend countless hours gently talking her into meeting Sandhya. Olchawskis were known for their stubbornness. In the end, when Eric and Sandhya showed no signs of breaking up after years together, their mother had come around.

Wonder if Eric would go to bat for me now? Their mother had been heartbroken by her divorce from Paul. She hadn't asked Rosalind if she were dating anyone since the divorce became final. There hadn't been anyone worth mentioning.

Now, she felt like Eric in that midnight phone call-overwhelmed with emotion, unable to believe the miracle that had struck. She was in love. It was stunning enough that she wanted to tell someone, everyone, to alert the world to what had happened. She wanted to share the happiness that threatened to rip her apart. It was that fierce and immediate. She finally understood Eric's need to talk about it. Her heart was outside her body.

The phone rang. Rosalind, chilled by the emptiness of her apartment, dove for it. Funny how she had just spent all morning saying good-bye to a certain someone, but was still hoping she was calling. "h.e.l.lo?" she asked in a tone that added darling, and it's about time.

"No, it's not loverboy. Lovergirl. Just your poor neglected best friend in all the world. You gonna be home for a bit?"

"Sure," Rosalind said, glad to hear Ellie's voice. Her own life was surrounding her again, making her feel more at home. She was loved, out in the world. It was good to remember. Meeting Taryn had thrown the moments of genuine affection in her life into high relief. She could see the rarity and treasure in each of them now.

"I'll be right over. I have a present for you," Ellie said, a smirk in her voice that came right across the phone line.

Ellie walked into the apartment five minutes later, carrying boxes. "Go sit," she ordered, and breezed into the kitchen.

Rosalind did, sitting on the couch. "What are you doing?" she called, but Ellie ignored her.

"Close your eyes."

Rosalind did, resisting the urge to peek. She heard Ellie come closer, then something landed on the coffee table.

"Open 'em," Ellie commanded.

Rosalind did, and saw a cake. It was chocolate, with tiny red roses sculpted of candy tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it. Candles were lit around the edges. Rosalind's brow wrinkled. It wasn't her birthday, not even close. She peered at the cake, seeing the lettering for the first time. Good For You! You're Gay! it read in a cheerful scrawl.

"Ellie!" she said, half shocked, half delighted.

Ellie dropped down on the couch next to her. "Hey, I watched Ellen. I know what this calls for. Blow out the candles. You disappear for three days, not a word, then you come back quiet as a cat, with a smile on your face that makes me die of envy. You need a new leather jacket, don't you? Thought so. I'm hardly ever off the mark with this." She shook her blond head and handed Rosalind the knife. "Cut the cake."

"You are too much," Rosalind said, making the first cut.

"So did you spend the last few days rolling around with lovergirl or not?" Ellie asked, accepting a slab of cake.

"Yes, as I'm sure you know," Rosalind admitted around a mouthful of cake.

"I only ask because my own life is so sad and drab, I envy you your new distraction."

"She asked me to be her girl," Rosalind said, grinning like a fool.

"How very 1950's. She's been watching too many Elvis films. You said, 'No, I couldn't. I'm in mourning for my failed marriage. I have too much work to do. I couldn't possibly have a life too.'"

"I said yes. I said I loved her."

Ellie held up her hand. "That sounds serious. No serious until after cake and presents. Then we can do serious." She plucked the box from the table and handed it to Rosalind.

"Purple tissue paper? That's not like you."

"Lavender. It sets the mood. It's a theme present."

Rosalind undid the ribbon with the cake knife, getting frosting on the paper that she ripped away in one healthy swipe, then opened the box.

"It's a Lesbian Starter Kit. I talked to a d.y.k.e in the theater department, and she gave me a list of things no beginning lesbian should be without," Ellie narrated, as Rosalind held up each item. "One Melissa Etheridge CD, any one at all. One scented lavender G.o.ddess candle. One brochure to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival, note spelling of Womyn's. A copy of Rubyfruit Jungle, a videotape of Desert Hearts, one of Claire of the Moon, but you can only watch that one stoned. A reading list: Judy Grahn, Paula Gunn Allen, Dorothy Allison, Minnie Bruce Pratt, Joan Nestle. The phone number of the Lesbian Herstory Archives. And a gift certificate for Taryn. For a toaster."

It was the toaster that did it. Picturing the household congratulating Taryn on another successful conversion, then picturing Taryn walking casually to a closet, where she kept her hundreds of toasters stacked like Legos, just broke Rosalind up. She laughed until tears ran from her eyes, until her ribs ached and she couldn't see. She collapsed against Ellie's shoulder, both of them too hysterical to talk for minutes.

When she could draw in a breath, her sides felt sore. "You're the best. You know that? A good-for-you cake, for Christ's sake. Where's all the oppression and hatred I'm supposed to get?"

"It'll come, don't go looking for it. But what they don't tell you is one, how much darn fun it can be, and two, how some people get over it quickly. If they let everyone know that, lots more people might come pouring out of the closet, and then where would the world be?" Ellie exhaled and patted Rosalind's leg. "She's a lucky butch to land you. Does she know that?"

"I think so," Rosalind said shyly.

"The cake is done, the presents opened. We can do serious now. She asked you to be her girl. Not to throw a bucket of cold water on your new flame, but what does lovergirl mean by that? She wants a steady f.u.c.k for a few weeks, she wants to wear your ring, something in between? How serious does this girl get?"

"She didn't seem like the type to get serious at all when we met. But...she's so intense. It's like we can't bear to be apart, even for a few hours. She's in love with me," Rosalind said, pride in her voice.

"Snaps for taste, at least. You think you two might last?"

Rosalind looked down into her lap, at her folded hands, then back up into her friend's face. She nodded, unable to speak.

"Then I get best-friend rights. I get to grill her extensively on her intentions-how she plans on treating you, who she thinks she is to waltz right offstage and grab the best woman in Buffalo." Ellie's tone was indignant, comic, but there was something else to it.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Rosalind asked. She halfway expected a flippant answer, but she didn't get one.

"I'd like to. I'd like to think the world is a good enough place for things like that to happen. If I did believe in it, I'd say you guys had a case." Ellie ran a hand through her hair. "Confession time. I don't think I've ever been in love, not the way you seem to be. Three days and bam, you're certain she's the one. I've had some wonderful affairs, a good relationship or two. But I've never felt that he's 'the one.' I don't know if there is a one for me. Maybe not everyone has that out there waiting for them. So, on behalf of the disillusioned romantics of the world, don't squander this. It might be rarer than you think."

"Oh, Ellie."

"Don't you 'Oh, Ellie' me. I'm being honest with you, rare for an actress. I'm envious. I'd give my right arm to have someone drive me crazy. But you know what? If it could have been a woman for me, it'd have been you."

Ellie said this, then looked down at the cake, at the ruins of the lavender tissue paper. Rosalind looked at her friend, then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She sat with her head on Ellie's shoulder, in silence, as they both adjusted to what had been said.

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Rosalind asked, at last. Something from her conversation with Rhea was itching at her mind, a thought that kept spinning just out of reach.

"I think souls travel in groups, like field hockey teams. You usually end up knowing the same people over and over. I've known you before. Minute I met you, I felt it. Like, this woman is cool. You can tell her anything, and it'll seem like you already have. Conversational deja vu," Ellie said, with a trace of her humor returning.

"Why does that sound familiar?"

Ellie's head perked up. "Deja vu sounding familiar? Very funny."

"No, it's not a joke. d.a.m.n this headache. It makes it so hard to focus." Rosalind rubbed her temple with her right hand.

"Too much s.e.x. Gives you a headache every time," Ellie said in her best talk-show-host voice.

"I have not had too much s.e.x. I think Rhea put a spell on me," Rosalind complained, leaning back down on Ellie's shoulder.

"Rhea the witch guardian angel. Oooh, this'll be good. She jealous? Elvis hard to let go of?"

"I don't know. I'm sure Taryn would be hard to let go of. I don't plan on finding out. Rhea and I had some sort of heart-to-heart in the kitchen this morning, and I can't seem to remember much of it." Heart-to-heart. Rosalind pictured, for one wild moment, a beating heart sitting in a copper dish, torn from the body that housed it. She saw another heart, blue and throbbing, placed next to it. She shuddered down to her marrow, disturbed by the uninvited image.

"You know, blue agave has that effect on me. I just never thought of blaming it on a hex before."

"Not a hex. A warding. First time I showed up in the backyard, she asked if she'd have to set a warding on me. What's a warding?"

"Something the Academy does."

"I'm serious. You know more about this than I do."

Ellie considered this and didn't seem to think it was a strange turn for the conversation to take. Perhaps they discussed this sort of thing in the theater department all the time. "It's a protection against something, a warning. Usually put on a house to keep unwanted things out."

Rosalind shook her head. "Charming. Rhea wants to keep me out of the house. She's put up psychic no-pest strips."

Ellie smiled in approval. "That was really funny. The headache is good for your sense of humor, at least. Try some caffeine, and a few minutes lying down in a dark room. Good for spell recovery and migraines. I've got to go, sweetie. Acting 108. I'm teaching them how to be chairs today." Ellie stood up from the couch and stretched her arms over her head.

"How do you be a chair?"

Ellie looked at her with a grave, still expression. "First, you meditate on the essence of a chair. Then you bring that primal 'chairness' into form. You become the chair. Plays are just real life on stage," Ellie intoned.

"Do they ever ask you why you make them do these things? My freshmen always fight me about writing exercises." Rosalind's headache was subsiding to a dull throb.

"Nah. I have them play freeze-tag on the first day of cla.s.s. After that, they accept anything I tell them to do. Tell Eric I said hey. And call me, for anything," Ellie said over her shoulder as she left.

It was six thirty when Eric rang the bell, as Rosalind knew it would be. She and her brother shared a family pa.s.sion for being early to everything. Friends grew used to it, automatically deducting half an hour from the time the Olchawskis promised to arrive and adding an hour to invitation times. It almost evened the trait out. She went to her window and tossed her keys down to him. He caught them one-handed, displaying an athletic grace that belied his day job.

Rosalind heard him opening the door seconds later and knew he'd jogged up the stairs. He entered the apartment, his face dappled red from the exertion, a smile creasing his cheeks. That smile, and his eyes, were the only indication that he and Rosalind shared blood. He towered over her, standing six two; his hair was a soft, dusty brown like the pelt of a deer. His stint in the army reserves had left him with a solid frame and a penchant for crew cuts. He looked like a hearty farm boy, handsome in an unfinished way, ready to extend his hand to anyone. At twenty-eight, he still had the energy of a teenager.

Eric hugged Rosalind, engulfing her. "You look great. What have you been up to?" he asked her, holding her by the shoulders and looking her over.

Behind him, Sandhya entered the apartment at a dignified walk, having foregone running up the stairs. Sandhya was Eric's physical opposite. Only Rosalind's height, graceful as a dancer, where he was rough, explosive. She wore her black hair loose to her shoulders, a fall of jet silk with highlights like water.