"Helen..." Martine scanned the little space quickly. Whatever her mentor saw in it had yet to register on her. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
The older woman raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. "Isn't it a bit late for second thoughts, dear?"
"No...well, maybe." The surrounding area was beautiful, open and lushly green, but the city was quiet, far quieter than Los Angeles. It wasn't exactly farm country, but it bore little resemblance to the milieu in which her mentor had recruited her and honed her skills. The great majority of the buildings were one or two storeys. The streets were traveled, but not full or nearly so. Most of the men were in overalls or blue jeans. The women they'd passed on the streets simply didn't
look
like the sort who'd seek the services of a specialist of her sort. "Where will our clientele come from?"
"Just set up as close as possible to how we were set up in California and wait to be noticed," Helen said. "Surely you're not worried about money?"
"No...no." Martine tried to imagine the rows of displays, the racks of goods, familiar from their store in Los Angeles. It was hard; the lighting, the differences in geometry, and the lack of ambient noise from the street beyond worked against her. The back of the store, just then partitioned off by a plain drywall but ultimately to be concealed by a wall of mirrors, was impossible to imagine set up as Naughty But Nice was arranged. She grimaced briefly and strove to quell her misgivings.
Helen laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to fear, dear. Remember, we're not here to turn a monetary profit. We are called to this work. If that which we serve decrees that you be here, then here you must be." She smiled. "Just do what you've trained to do...what you did so well in Los Angeles. Do it with skill, pride, and joy. My confidence in you is boundless. One word of advice?"
Martine nodded vigorously.
"Whenever you're open, always have the tea service ready. And the cakes."
"I will." Impulsively, Martine whirled and threw her arms around the older woman. "I'm going to miss you."
Helen squeezed her and stroked her short cap of shiny black hair. "I'm never more than half a day away, dear. I'll be here whenever you truly need me."
Martine repressed a shiver. "I hope so."
Another squeeze. "Count on it."
***
Maureen Harkness quickly made the Sign of the Cross and started to turn toward her husband, but Chris had already turned away and pulled the blanket to his chin. She tensed, thought briefly about importuning him, and relaxed with a silent sigh. Two tears leaked down her face in the darkness.
His goodness is killing me.
Fully aware of her vaginitis, Chris would not, as he put it, impose himself on her physically. He loved her too much to cause her pain for his own pleasure.
Maureen had come to miss that pain more than life itself.
Lord, how do I cope? He's the best man You ever put on this earth. I love him beyond all reason. Amanda does, too. I could never have believed in his degree of bravery or integrity before I saw them with my own eyes. And I can't convince him that, despite my problems, I want him still, that having him in my body means more to me than anything else in this world. What must I do?
She feared it was having an effect on Chris that he wouldn't discuss. He'd become ever quieter since their last attempted coitus. There was a new tone of resignation in his carriage and his dealings with others. That morning he'd politely asked a garbageman not to toss their cans into the street. The lout flipped him off without eliciting a reaction, much less a penalty for his cheek.
His calling was to be a warrior in service to freedom and justice. Has my lessening as a woman lessened him as well?
She held herself very still, careful not to disturb Chris's incipient slumbers.
Guide me, Lord. Help me to find a way out of this impasse. But if that's not to be, if our marriage is to be without fleshly coitus from now on, help me to accept it with patience and bear it with unfailing love. Grant me Your grace.
She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But before she drifted off, a faint signal, like something heard from across the sea and over the horizon beyond, seemed to impinge on her semiconscious mind.
Ask Christine.
***
Maureen edged tentatively into the Integral Security gymnasium, mindful of the irregularity. Interrupting a training session in progress simply wasn't done. Kevin Conway, Integral's owner-proprietor, took a dim view of it. She'd likely hear about it from her husband, too.
As she rounded the turn into the martial-arts room, she collided frontally with Patricia Larson. The young patrolwoman seemed in a hurry to get to wherever she was going. The two women turned faces red with embarrassment on one another, each muttered a low apology, and Larson continued away at a fast trot.
Lord, help me to forgive her. Not to hold it against her that she wants what I have. Had.
Christine hoisted herself out of her seat as Maureen scampered across the exercise mats. She smiled widely and spread her arms, and they embraced.
"Good to see you, babe," Christine said. "Are you back on the schedule again?"
Maureen looked up at the younger woman and shook her head. "I'd like to be, though. Do you have an empty slot I could fill?"
Christine's smile grew wider still. "I'll make one. Just pick a time and I'll reserve it for you. Anyone who complains can fight for it."
"Me?"
The trainer shook her head. "Me!"
Maureen pulled her close again, rested her cheek against the cushion of Christine's bosom, luxuriated in the welcome there.
Lord, what comfort there is in holding this girl! So warm, so gifted, and so beautiful! Feeling her against me is almost as good as holding Chris. Truly, You never made two things the same. All praise to You!
Presently they sat, Maureen's hands enfolded in Christine's. All it took was for Christine to say, "So how have you been?" and though Maureen had never willed it, the whole of her agony poured forth uncensored.
It was several minutes before she ran down. When she did, she slumped forward, breathless and exhausted, ready to collapse into Christine's arms.
The trainer didn't speak for nearly a minute. She chewed her lips, stroked the backs of Maureen's hands with her thumbs, glanced randomly around the gymnasium, and finally gave a great sigh.
"We have to come at this from the beginning," Christine said. "Are you absolutely, positively certain it's just your problem that's in the way?"
Maureen straightened up. She started to expostulate an indignant affirmative, checked herself.
Am I
really
sure?
"I...don't know. I'd assumed so, but..."
The trainer nodded. "You can't be. You never can. It could also be a loss of desire on his part. Or he might have flogged himself into no longer thinking of you as a sexual being."
"Can a healthy man
do
that?"
Christine nodded. "I never told you about
my
trainer, did I?"
"No, you've..."
Maybe I don't know you as well as I'd like.
"Might I learn something from the tale? I don't wish to pry --"
Christine smirked. "I expect you would. Both ways, babe. Women are cats. We have to know everything, sniff every crevice and lick every surface. Why pretend otherwise?" She squeezed Maureen's hands. "So come sit by me and cock an ear."
Maureen shifted in her seat to draw closer to the younger woman, but the geometry of the metal chairs held them several inches apart. Christine snorted, trotted to one edge of the exercise mats, and yanked it loose from its moorings in a display of her considerable strength. With a few tugs and twists she fashioned an improvised
