Sarah wasn't feeling well.
Her stomach ached almost constantly, and she had trouble keeping food inside. It had worsened two months ago and took a great deal of energy out of her. It also made her look like a ghost.
She saw a doctor and a scan had been made.
"Hard to tell" seemed to be the first opinion - and the second opinion was the same. There were infections, maybe the start of an ulcer. She got medicine; they didn't help much.
New scans introduced the possibility of surgery.
The pain was bad, the waiting worse - and the suspicion of something fatal grew to be unbearable. She often went to the club just to kill time and find distraction. But by now she wondered if her illness wasn't aggravated by her visits there.
Maybe they even caused it?
She'd been a "grande dame," back in the days of Sappho's Bar - the most respected of a group that had slowly shaped itself around her. She was different from most in the lesbian club-circuit; she cared for people and was genuinely interested, often helping newbies feel welcome.
She loved to just sip a drink and gossip, sometimes even discussing things that mattered. She went shopping with a few of her friends there; once or twice they went to a concert, or the theatre.
Experience made her picky and her maturity tended to make others choosy about her - so it wasn't often that she had ongoing affairs or even quickies.
Quickies had never been her style anyway.
After her first exciting months at Sappho's, she lost her appetite for one-night stands, finding them rather shallow and even boring. She loved more profound contacts, having to like a girl on more levels than just sex.
That was when she met Eva.
It was a memorable day when she saw her walking into the old club's bar - the copper flames of her hair blazing around her face. How old could she be? Eighteen, twenty? She was scantily dressed in a slinky green top that left her flat belly free, a tiny pleated skirt and sneakers.
The girl blushed deliciously, pink arousal glowing through her almost translucently pale skin. Even her shy voice sounded adorable when she stated her name.
Her hands had been on her hips, pulling her shoulders back - the lovely legs slightly apart, her firm, young titties out. She just stood there, calmly challenging the room, making them guess if her act was genuinely innocent - or exactly that: an act.
One thing Sarah knew at once - she had to have the thing. So, she begged her closer.
At first it was sheer lust of course, but even as soon as the girl climbed into her lap, chatting away, she knew there was much more to her than the promise of a willing body. She was bright, witty, curious and at the same time deliciously insecure - an altogether irresistible mixture. How on earth had the girl found the courage to walk in and expose herself like she did?
And where on earth had she learned how to kiss like that, with those weak, pink, pillow lips?
Sarah claimed the girl's attention all evening, that first night, knowing very well that she would be eaten alive if thrown to the starved she-wolves that visited Sappho's.
She poured her charms on her like the sweetest icing on a cake. Showing her around, she let her meet the others (though never very long) and, on the nights that followed, allowed her a controlled taste of the ripe and sometimes exotic fruits that grew in Sappho's lesbian garden.
The girl lapped it up with boundless energy.
Sarah was well-aware where the main danger lurked. There was this cool, alluring Philippine businesswoman, Clara, who had recently become a member. She smiled a lot and used all the right words, but Sarah knew she was ruthless.
As a child from a rich, feudal family, Clara had grown up in surroundings where power was as common as it had been absent in Sarah's. Money is a magnet, she knew, and she saw many of her minions flock to their new queen.
Of course, she'd lost Eva too, in the end.
It stabbed her heart to watch the sweet thing drift away, falling for the rich woman with starry-eyed adoration - another butterfly pinned to the victorious (and thoroughly fake) chest of a conqueror. Ah, Sarah was bitter by then. The fight for power had left her tired and lonely.
And sick.
About that same time, Sappho's Bar closed, due to crazy lesbian-bashing vandals who tore down the place and ruined its pretty lounge and cozy rooms.
Sarah had been watching out for other places long before that. One of them was Société La Biche where she'd met women who struck her as intelligent, liberal and refreshingly daring.
So, when the curtain fell for Sappho's, most of the girls followed her to the new haven. The invasion shook the place and it took quite a while for the present residents to get used to the rather loud and opinionated newcomers. To be honest, the integration never worked out; many of the original La Biche members left the place.
Apart from Sarah nobody seemed to care. Much later - too late - she admitted that they'd been the barbarians sacking Rome.
But now it had come down to herself to decide - should she leave as well or put up one last fight for her right to the place - and her right to the girl?
She knew she'd fallen hard for her.
Just seeing the girl - her eyes, her smile - made her heart race, sending flames up her chest. She knew that the hole in her soul would stay there for a long, long time if she decided to give up and leave. On the other hand, how could she, old and ill, ever dream of being enough for the insatiate creature?
Sitting at the Société's terrace, quietly sipping her stomach-soothing herbal tea, she considered her possibilities.
She knew Clara's strategy was to dazzle the girl with her wealth, her generosity and all the sweet assets that went with it. Sadly, Sarah supposed Eva might be attracted to them. The girl had a girlfriend and a business she struggled to keep afloat, but that would never be enough, would it?
Sarah could almost taste her desperate need.
Now, what did she herself have to offer? Bright conversation? Real interest? An old woman's wisdom? Wit? Ah, and the tenderness of true love, she mused.
Love.
Shouldn't the real thing outshine the glaring tinsel of what the Philippine woman had to give? She chuckled ironically. How naïve she was. She, self-appointed woman of the world, trusting such romantic notions as true love conquering all.
On the other hand, would the girl even be worth the effort if she'd fall so easily for money, glamour and an opportunity to see the world?
'Worth the effort,' she mused - wasn't that a thought you shouldn't have when you were struck with real, unconditional love? True lovers had no choice; there was no evaluation needed, only blind necessity. If what Sarah felt was truly unselfish love for the girl, shouldn't she want her to be happy with whatever choice she made?
Wouldn't it just be selfish arrogance to decide what should be good for Eva?
But Sarah shook her head, feeling her eyes burn with unshed tears. It just hurt too much to be that selfless. It was too painful knowing someone else might be loved, licked and kissed by this sweet perfect nymph that had so easily bewitched her heart.
Being deep in thought, Sarah at first missed the noises at the entrance to the terrace. It was Clara.
She was in her business suit, straight from the office no doubt - or a long lunch. The tailored jacket and skirt made her look sleek and efficient. Her entourage surrounded her, excited as always. Once they'd been Sarah's friends and lovers, mirroring Clara now in an embarrassing effort to look just as successful.
The group alighted at a table next to Sarah - like a flock of twittering birds. Some of them nodded a greeting; others couldn't even be bothered anymore. It did not escape her attention that Clara's gaze was fixed on her right from the moment she entered.
