AN ARIA FOR CAMI
“Plein de fureur, il court!”
– Bizet, Carmen, Votre toast (Aria)
Mount Vernon, New York, March 30, immediately following
Rob’s Audi was both quiet and understated and Rob, bless him, was giving me the quiet I needed to process all of the emotions from Iain’s cremation. I cradled the box that held his remains in my hands. So small a box, in the end.
Rob pulled smoothly into the parking lot of our motel and drove around to the back side where our room was. But when he rounded the corner, we saw a police cruiser parked in front of our room. The door of our unit was open, and the motel manager was outside.
“What the hell . . . ?” Rob sounded more puzzled than anything else.
I had thought from the time that I asked Nicole to book me a room that no one would rent to me if they knew I was isolating with someone who had COVID, and I had gone to great lengths not to advertise that fact. But clearly, someone thought something suspicious was going on.
Looking at the manager’s worried face – doubly worried, as he watched us pull up – I thought I could guess who the someone might be. “I wasn’t expecting police or an invasion, but I figured we would get questions at some point,” I said. “Timing sure could have been better.”
“You got that right,” Rob replied. “How do you want to play this?”
I thought about it. “By ear. Cool, if possible. We haven’t done anything wrong. But we’ll have to see how it goes.”
Rob touched my hand. “You’ve got the legal expertise. I’ve got your back.”
I gave him a smile of thanks, carefully set my brother’s remains on the floor in front of me, and stepped out of the car. We were both looking formal and professional. That would help.
Probably.
I paused to put my N-95 firmly in place, and Rob did the same. Then we walked over, stopping a good ten feet from the manager. Using a gentle tone I said, “I’m assuming you’ve got an explanation for this. I’d like to hear it, before deciding whether to take legal action, Mister . . . ?”
He didn’t take the hint and give me his last name. “Look, I gotta protect my customers. Protect the owners. You come here, you never leave, except when an ambulance comes in the middle of the night. A guy coming here every couple days making drops and pick-ups. I don’t know what you’re up to, okay?” He sounded very defensive.
“I see,” I said. “Please ask the officers to join us outside. I don’t want them to catch COVID.”
His eyes bugged out. “WHAT!!! Fuck!!! You goddamned . . . .” He stopped speaking abruptly. Something in Rob’s face, or his stance, made him think twice about whatever he had been about to say.
His pause gave me the opening to say, “Now would be a good time. I don’t want to explain this twice. And you are needlessly exposing those officers, right now.”
He was sweating seriously now, and he had backed up until he bumped into the wall. He just repeated, “Fuck!”
Fortunately, the police didn’t wait for him to call them. An officer came to the door, took in the tableau with a quick scan, and stepped outside. “Are you threatening this man?” he asked us.
I hurried to reassure him. “No, officer. We’re staying in this unit. We just asked the manager to pull you and anyone else out of the room; we’ve been sheltering in place there because we’ve both had COVID.”
“Ah, shit,” he said, then called back, “Kelly, out now. Now!”
Hearing his urgent tone, his partner came out of the room very quickly indeed, her hand on her service weapon. She had not, mercifully, drawn it.
Time to defuse the situation.
“I’m sorry you were called, officers,” I said, soothingly. “If the manager had spoken to me, we could have addressed any concerns. We aren’t engaged in any illegal activity. I’m an attorney from Washington, D.C., and Mr. Hutchinson is an investment banker. We’ve been experiencing COVID symptoms for the past ten days so we’ve been sheltering in place on the advice of a highly qualified doctor. We’ve had supplies dropped off. That’s all.”
“I don’t want no fucking COVID in my place!” The manager’s voice was loud, frightened, and sure to upset every resident within a hundred yards.
Idiot.
“I understand that,” I said patiently, “but, the terms of the month-long contract that I signed in your office don’t say anything about evicting people for reasons related to health or disease. I looked at them very carefully. You might want to do the same.”
He was sputtering.
The first officer – Dwyer, his name plate said – asked, “What about the ambulance, and the guy that was taken away?”
I kept my voice level. “That was my brother. He died in the hospital last week; we’re just returning from cremating his remains. Is there anything else?”
Officer Dwyer still looked uncertain.
The manager was still raging. “I want them out. Right now!!! We got rights!!!”
I kept my attention on Dwyer; he seemed to be the senior officer present. “I assume that you searched the room. And found nothing more interesting than a whole lot of flu and cold remedies, a thermometer, and a log book?”
His partner, Kelly . . . McDonald? . . . said, “I saw the medicine. For sure. And the thermometer. Didn’t see any log book, but I didn’t look at papers. No contraband or anything.”
I nodded. “Again, I’m very sorry. You should probably check in and find out whether you’re required to isolate. If you weren’t in the room long, it might not matter, and we’re masked and keeping our distance. But my sister’s a doctor up at MassGeneral, and I can tell you they don’t have a good handle on exactly how contagious this is.”
Officer Dwyer was no longer looking twitchy. “We’ll do that, thanks.” He sounded resigned. Turning to the manager, he said. “I know you don’t want them here, but if they’ve paid for the room we can’t evict them. You want them out, you’ll need to get a lawyer.”
The manager squawked.
Officer Dwyer was unsympathetic. “I get it. But there’s nothing we can do. There’s no evidence these folks have done anything illegal.” Looking at his partner, he said, “C’mon Kelly, we’d better report in.” He headed back towards the cruiser, ignoring the manager’s increasingly panicked protests.
Officer McDonald gave me a compassionate look. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ma’am. And, thank you for the warning.” She got in the passenger’s seat of the cruiser and they drove off.
“Fucking useless fucking police!!!!” The manager, amazingly, still sputtered like an old and poorly maintained engine.
I had had an emotional day and decided I had been a good girl more than long enough. “You heard Officer Dwyer. We’ve paid for that room, so get away from the door and stop harassing us. Anything else you want to say, I recommend you do it through your lawyer. Now MOVE!”
He didn’t stop cursing, but he moved. Quickly, once we started to approach him. I don’t know whether he was more afraid of Rob, radiating silent menace on my left side, or of catching COVID.
I’d take it, either way.
As I closed the door behind us, Rob chuckled. “Remind me,” he said, “not to piss you off.”
I pulled him into an embrace. “You did a pretty good job without saying a word.” I pulled back just far enough to give him a kiss. “Thank you for backing me up like that. Most guys . . . . “
“ . . . would have felt the need to take charge?” he said, finishing my thought. “That would have been a bad move, for lots of reasons that I mercifully don’t need to explain to you, oh chess master. There was more than enough free-floating testosterone in that encounter to get ugly. And dangerous. I had every confidence that you could handle the situation better than I could, and you did.”
I could only stare at him in wonder. “If I wasn’t already, I think I’d fall in love with you for that. You and Henry . . . my God, why didn’t your parents have twelve kids!”
“Well,” he said with an evil chuckle, “they had Sam, you see . . . .” Sam was the middle brother; I hadn’t met him.
The immediate emergency resolved, Rob went back outside and brought Iain’s remains in; we put them on the bureau in my room. We made some coffee, which I was absolutely positive I could now both smell and taste. Not strongly, but at least some. Some of the shortfall was almost certainly the Keurig.
Rob took off his coat and tie; I slipped out of my pumps, and we settled into the couch. His left arm snaked behind me on the back of the couch, leaving his hand free to play with my hair and my earlobe.
I snuggled into him, enjoying the closeness.
“You roommates have amazing voices,” Rob said, moving back to the really important events of the day. “I’ve been to a lot of funerals. Too many. I’ve never gotten numb to it, but . . . sometimes it just hits harder. Today . . . well. I’m really glad I was able to be there for that.”
I nodded. “Yes, me too. I know we had to do it this way, but I can’t think of any traditional service that would have been more suitable for Iain. And having everyone there made all the difference.”
I looked into those remarkable eyes of his. “Thank you for being there . . . and for thinking to invite people to join us. I know it meant the world to Fi to be able to be there, even if it was just by video.”
He gave me a lingering kiss, then we sat quietly for a few moments. Eventually, he said, “You know, we probably have to isolate another two weeks. But we don’t have to do it here. I don’t doubt you can keep that moronic manager out of our hair, but we do have other options.”
I thought about that. We had been staying close because of Iain – and because, for some significant period of time, we had been too ill to go anywhere. But neither of those reasons applied any longer. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well . . . ” he said carefully, “My apartment is only about three and a half hours from here. I don’t live with anyone else, so we could isolate there as easily as we can here. It’s nothing fancy, but I’m comfortable saying it’s better than this place.”
He was watching me carefully. There was more here than met the eye, so I thought about it before making an easy response. Why was Rob dancing around?
I finally decided there were too many variables, and just decided to ask him. “You seem very cautious about this, Rob. Can you tell me why?”
He smiled. “Always the observant one. It’s really just because I don’t know how you would feel about moving in with me.”
A serious man deserved a thoughtful answer. “If we’re just talking about our two-week isolation period, it certainly doesn’t faze me. At all. I have some very fond memories of this place, but some others will be in my nightmares forever. I’m more than ready to leave, and I’d love to see your place.”
“But . . . ?” he prodded gently.
“But. My life, and my work, aren’t in Boston. I . . . I don’t know where we’re headed, Rob. I have hopes, and dreams, and you’re in them. I want you to be in them. But how we work out life outside of these four walls . . . . I don’t have any answers for that yet.”
His features displayed nothing but calm and understanding. “I don’t either. I’ve enjoyed this moment and I haven’t wanted to think about what happens after. We’ll have to, eventually. But all of that can wait. Right now, we just have to decide where to stay for the next two weeks. If it’s my apartment, there’s no commitment involved.”
I smiled. “My friend Liz told me that I shouldn’t be worried if I couldn’t get everything figured out by lunchtime. I should listen to her.”
“Sounds like a wise woman . . . she was the redhead? The one who was outdoors?”
I nodded, then said, very shyly, “She’s the one who helped me discover who I really am. Who helped me understand that I’m a woman.”
“Then I have a lot to thank her for.” He leaned in and kissed me again. “That’s why you chose Elizabeth as your middle name?”
I nodded, then I kissed him back. And our kisses grew more intense, and our hands began to wander . . . .
“Se vuol venire nella mia scuola, la capriola le insegnerò”
– Mozart, Le Nozze di Figaro, Se vuol ballare (Aria)
Mt. Vernon, New York, later that day
I was naked from the waist down, wearing nothing at all except my bra, snuggled into Rob’s chest and sleeping soundly, when my phone went off. I propped myself up, searching for it. I saw a name I didn’t recognize on the caller ID and answered with a simple, “Hello?”
“This is George Devine from the Cabot law firm. Is this Cameron Savin?”
“Speaking,” I responded in my professional voice.
“Mr. Savin, or Ms. Savin, or whatever you are, I’m calling on behalf of my client, the Westmont Motel, Inc.”
“How can I help you Mr. Devine, or George, or whatever you are,” I answered. Pretty calmly, if I do say so myself.
“You can help me by immediately vacating my client’s premises and paying damages. You rented the room under false pretenses and I will expose your game in a New York minute if you aren’t out of there in one hour.”
One of the partners I’d worked with once said that people tend to hire the lawyers they deserve. Sure enough, this guy was like the manager, but with a law degree.
I was going to enjoy, in a way I probably shouldn’t, taking him apart.
“I rented the apartment in good faith, I gave your idiot manager a valid ID, and nothing in the contract that you probably drew up says anything about evicting guests who have contagious diseases.”
“I checked out your profile on your firm website, ‘Mizz’ Savin,” he said in a tone that could only be described as a sneer. “And I don’t think you’ll want your employers knowing about your double identity.”
I had a sudden image of Rob’s Uncle Cornelius warning me that maintaining my original gender at work would expose me to blackmail. He had been right, but I’d already defanged that threat, so I laughed at him.
“They already know. If you don’t believe me, dig a bit further on the website and find the names of the members of the management committee. Feel free to contact them. All of them.” I was really enjoying myself.
“Bullshit.”
“I encourage you to test that hypothesis, Mr. Devine.” My voice was soft as velvet. “I can promise you that the only thing you’ll get back from Cavandish, Edwards and Gunn is a copy of a letter they will send to the grievance committee of the New York State Bar. Advancing your client’s interest through extortionate means is a sanctionable offense. It might even cost you your law license. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
The line was silent for a moment, so I said, “Your move, ‘Mister’ Devine.”
He decided – wisely, if a bit late – to try a different tack. “Look, my client has a duty to his employees, his customers, his reputation. You have no right to put all of that at risk.”
“If you got around to reading the contract, you know that I do have the right. And your client has a duty to me, because I am one of his customers. If motels, and hotels, and apartments get to evict people just because they’ve caught COVID, just exactly where do you expect all of those people to go? And how is that going to help stop the spread of the disease?”
“That’s not my client’s problem . . . .”
“Yes it is,” I cut in. “Because your client rented me a room, and doesn’t have a right to terminate under the contract, it is your client’s problem.”
He started to say something, but I cut him off again. “But, if you’ll stop making stupid threats and acting like a jackass, we might actually be able to have a conversation about how to solve your client’s problem. So what’s it going to be?”
I could practically feel the anger radiating from the other end of the receiver. He wanted to fight me, but he had to answer to a client who wanted me out and didn’t have a good way to obtain that result. “Fine,” he snarled. “Are you willing to talk about leaving?”
“Of course,” I said, sweetly. “If you fully refund all the money we paid, I will not only vacate the unit tomorrow morning, I will thoroughly clean and disinfect every surface and leave freshly-cleaned linens and towels that haven’t been taken out of plastic.”
“A full refund!!! That’s absurd!!! You’ve been there for weeks!!!” he blustered.
“Mr. Devine,” I said patiently, “you are asking me to surrender my legal right to remain here through April 12, which is the period I’ve paid for. And, not for nothing, but your client had our belongings searched by the police, without any reasonable basis to believe we’d committed any wrongdoing. There are claims I could pursue, and you can bet your license – whatever it might be worth at this point – that Cavendish, Edwards will represent me for free.”
“That’s not remotely reasonable!” he replied hotly.
I was losing patience. ‘I’m not going to debate the reasonableness of my offer. New York’s Rules of Professional Conduct must require that you convey offers of settlement to your client – every jurisdiction does – so stop barking at me and do your job. Ethically, for a change, if you can manage that for a few minutes. Let me know what they have to say when you have an answer.”
I ended the call.
Rob was sitting beside me. “I caught most of that. I like your style, girl!”
I kissed him. “I don’t care about the money . . . Well, I do; it’s not nothing. But mostly it’s the principle of the thing. And, he was acting unethically. Very unethically.” I thought for a minute. “Rob, I think that I need to call Eileen. Right now.”
“Good idea.”
I called her cell and she picked right up. “Cami, I’m glad to hear from you. I was so sorry to hear about your brother. Are you alright?”
“Thank you, Eileen. I’m doing okay. We had a ceremony for Iain today, and it was really, really helpful. My sister was able to be there via a video call, and some friends. And, I’m starting to recover from COVID. I’ve just got a couple lingering symptoms at this point.”
“I’m very glad to hear that. . . . So now it’s just a question of isolating until you aren’t contagious?”
“Yes . . . or, more accurately, until everyone is pretty sure I’m not contagious. Based on what Fiona tells me, there’s a fair bit of guess work in that. But, I think I should be cleared more or less when the firm is scheduled to open back up again. And, of course, I can continue to work remotely until then.”
“I don’t know how likely it is that we’ll reopen right after Easter, but we’re monitoring it. In any event, that’s very good news.”
“I’m actually calling for a different reason though,” I said. “The manager at this motel I’ve been staying at discovered I’ve got COVID and wants me out. I’m going to oblige them – I’ve already made other arrangements – but they had a lawyer call and threaten that if I didn’t clear out, he’d tell the firm that I was passing myself off as a woman.”
“WHAT!!!!” I knew that Eileen’s sense of professional honor would be as outraged as my own, and she was predictably livid.
“I know,” I said. “I told him to go ahead and contact anyone on the Management Committee, but I doubt he will since I also pointed out that attempted extortion was at the very least sanctionable.”
“What’s his name?” Her voice was positively icy.
“He called himself George Devine, from the Cabot law firm.”
“I think I may send Mr. Devine a little love note. On firm stationery, of course.”
“I’m not going to even try to dissuade you,” I chuckled. “But I also think it’s time to just send out that firm-wide blast. And get my name and photo on the firm website changed.”
Eileen took no time at all thinking about that. “Agreed. We should have just done it earlier, anyway. You approved the earlier draft, right?”
“I did. I just needed to give you the name that I wanted to use professionally, but that’s when life got complicated.”
“Great,” she said. “The Committee already approved it, so I can have it sent out tonight. Actually, within the hour.”
She was clearly relishing putting a stake through that toad’s threats. Sometimes I think that the people who give lawyers a bad name vastly outnumber those who don’t.
“So what name should I put on the memo, Cami?”
“Camryn Elizabeth Campbell,” I responded. “The last two spelled just like you would expect; the first spelled C-A-M-R-Y-N.”
“That’s lovely! I didn’t realize you were changing your last name as well?””
“I had a bit of a theological disagreement with my father. It wasn’t about my gender issue; he doesn’t even know about that. But the upshot is, yes. I won’t go by Savin anymore. Campbell is my mother’s mother’s maiden name.”
After a moment, she said, “I’m sorry, Cami. It sounds like this has been a really horrible week for you. Let me get this taken care of. We’ll take down your current picture too. We’ll need a new one eventually, but that can wait.”
I thanked her profusely and we ended the call. “I’m glad to have that taken care of.”
Rob had stayed with me throughout the call. He just gave me a one-armed hug, then helped me get up.
Less than half an hour later, having gotten myself half decent by putting on a nightie and a dressing gown, I got two emails:
TO: All Personnel, All Offices
FROM: Raphael Oliveira, Chairman of the Management Committee and Evan Barksdale, Managing Partner for Personnel
DATE: March 30, 2020
Re: Personnel Matters
One of our litigation associates, Cameron Savin, has decided to make a name change to align with her gender, and is taking the name Camryn Elizabeth Campbell. We are delighted to support Camryn’s decision and wish her all the best as she begins this new chapter of her life.
As many of you know, Camryn has been out on sick leave, having contracted the COVID-19 virus along with her brother. While Camryn is making a full recovery, her brother has been an early casualty of the pandemic. Please join us in extending our most heartfelt condolences to Camryn and her entire family.
They hadn’t run the second paragraph by me, and I was very touched by it. Leave it to Eileen. And speaking of Eileen . . . .
TO: George Devine, The Cabot Law Firm
FROM: Eileen O’Donnell, Cavendish, Edwards and Gunn
DATE: March 30, 2020
Re: Your Recent Communications
Please see the attached correspondence concerning your potential violations of New York’s Rules of Professional Conduct.
The pdf attached to the email would have peeled the hide off of a brontosaurus. Mr. Devine would know, first, that his threat to “out” me had no teeth, and second, that he had exposed himself to serious professional jeopardy, regardless of whether he resolved my issue with his client.
Forty-five minutes later, I had a call from Jacob Cabot, the sole named partner in the Cabot law firm, informing me that their client had accepted my offer. He then apologized for any ‘misunderstanding’ his colleague’s earlier statements might have caused.
“The two issues aren’t connected,” I said bluntly. “If you send me an email containing the terms I discussed with Mr. Devine, I will confirm that agreement and I’ll vacate the premises once the credit is received.
“But with respect to Mr. Devine’s unprofessional conduct, there was no ‘misunderstanding.’ His threat to tell my employer that I am transgendered if I did not vacate this motel room was very clear. Both I and Cavendish Edwards will need to independently evaluate whether we have an affirmative obligation to report his misconduct. The settlement of this other matter won’t, and can’t, affect that determination.”
The line was silent for a minute. Then Mr. Cabot said, “I know. And I appreciate that. . . . We’ll keep the matters separate. But . . . look, I’ve known George for fifteen years. He’s a bulldog, but he’s not a bad guy. If an apology will help . . . ?”
I felt for Cabot, as I hadn’t for his partner. He seemed genuine, and he was clearly distressed at what had happened. I said, gently, “We do have an obligation to evaluate it, Mr. Cabot, to satisfy our own obligations under the rules. But I promise we’ll consider what you said.”
He had to be content with that.
Mt. Vernon, New York, March 31
Our belongings were all packed in Rob’s Audi and the motel room was spotless. I was standing at the threshold, my hands still in plastic gloves, my face still masked. I gave it one last look. The place where I had last seen Iain alive. Where I had kept vigil, making sure Rob survived his worst night. Where I had heard the news that Iain had died. Where Rob and I had first made love. Such an ordinary place, to hold love and death, fear and hope, medicine, magic, and faith.
“Will you miss it?” Rob asked, coming up behind me.
“No . . . Not exactly. But there’s just so much history here for me. It feels strange to turn the page.”
He was quiet, and the world seemed to hold its breath. In the momentary stillness, I heard a high, thin cry, far overhead, and looked up to see a raptor soaring against a vault of purest blue, the morning sunlight catching its wing and tail feathers.
I squeezed Rob’s hands, resting on my shoulders. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Amor è palpito dell´universo intero, misterioso, altero”
– Verdi, La Traviata, Sempre libera (Aria)
Boston, Massachusetts, April 1
I woke up in a strange bed, in a strange place, and it didn’t matter at all because I woke up next to Rob. He was sleeping completely naked, which I heartily approved of him doing. I was back in my light green nightie, and I approved of that, too.
It was around 5:00, I could tell that by my internal clock. What’s it going to be, Cami? I thought to myself. Do you lie here and fret about the future, or do you get up and start making it? Put in those terms, I slipped quietly from the bed, snagged my dressing gown and slippers, and left the bedroom.
Rob’s place was perfect for a young executive; nothing about it screamed “trust fund.” It had two smallish bedrooms, the second of which served as his study. A nicely appointed kitchen, open to the combined living room/dining room area, and one (very nice) bathroom. It was extremely tidy. Rob’s taste in furniture ran toward wood, leather, and comfort.
We had parked my things in the closet in the study, so I went there and changed into my yoga pants and a (kind of flirty, truth be told) blue sports bra with complicated string straps in the back. I left my feet bare; today I would only try doing stretches. There was room in front of his couch for that; doing a cheer routine might result in my breaking something. And anyway, I probably wasn’t recovered enough for that.
I felt fine – symptom free – but illness and a couple weeks of inactivity had really set back my physical fitness.
Even twenty minutes of stretches seemed like a lot. My muscles were positively screaming protest when I called a halt. Damn. It felt like I’d be starting from square one. I pulled myself upright and went into the kitchen, muttering all the way. Water to start. Rob had pointed me to the coffee supplies yesterday. I heated the water, got his coffee (tsking at him in absentia for buying it pre-ground), and set up the French Press.
I was focused on my task and did not notice Rob come up behind me until he planted one hand on my ass, while the other played with my flirty bra’s string back. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he said.
I turned and kissed him properly and thoroughly. So he would have no doubt about how I felt. We were both a bit flushed when I came up for air. “Good morning to you, too,” I said, smiling like a daisy at sunrise. “I didn’t expect to see you this early!”
I pushed the plunge on the French Press and brought my face down towards the pot, slowly sniffing the scent. It was real, genuine – this time, there was no doubt. My sense of smell was back. “One of the things that really got me, when my COVID symptoms started, was the thought that I might never smell fresh coffee again. I realized how important it was to me, something that small. I hope I never take it for granted again.”
His hand continued to caress me through the straps of my bra, but there wasn’t anything urgent about it. Just a wordless message that he found me beautiful, sexy, and desirable. All that, with nothing more than a touch.
Something else I hoped I would never take for granted.
His mind was going down a similar track. “We take a whole lot for granted now, and I think everyone of us is going to get a reminder of how precious all of those little things are. And, how vulnerable.”
“I assume you’ve been through that before, in the service.”
He nodded. “Yes . . . but you knew somehow that it was all still there, waiting for you. When I got home, I appreciated everything so much more than I ever had – people especially. But it’s amazing how quickly it all starts to feel normal again. I guess that’s just how humans are.”
We sat in silence for a bit, sharing the morning and drinking our coffee, then he asked whether I was talking to Fi at 6:30.
“I think we’re past the point where it’s necessary. But I’ve kind of gotten used to our morning calls. I’ll see what she says about it.” I drank some more of the rich, beautiful, perfect coffee. “Rob . . . do you mind if I talk to her about us? She will tell Henry. Will this cause issues with your family?”
He gave me a look that was hard to read and shifted a bit uncomfortably. “She already knows. I talked to her.”
I must have looked as astonished as I felt.
Though he was uncomfortable, he didn’t look away. “It was a couple days ago. Before we made love. I knew what I wanted, but I was so afraid that I would hurt you, somehow. Especially because of your issues with PTSD. So I talked to Fiona. She’s your dragon. I figured if she thought there was any likelihood of a problem, she would wave me off. She . . . ah . . . well. She didn’t.” He was blushing, bless the man. “She also wasn’t surprised.”
I wanted to come up with something clever to say, but I couldn’t. “I’m so touched, Rob. You are the most thoughtful person!” I could easily get weepy about this, but I clamped down on my hormones. Estrogen or no estrogen, I thought grimly, I am not a pubescent teenager!
Rob looked relieved. “I wasn’t sure how you would take it, so I didn’t say anything. It’s not that I think of you as some sort of child that needs protection, but . . . .“
“. . . but you knew that was an area that I actually might,” I said. I put my hand over his. “Don’t worry about it. . . . I’m grateful. But . . . that doesn’t answer the other part of my question. What about your family?”
“The only people who I really care about, on this issue anyway, are Mom and Dad. Henry matters, but you already know where he stands. Sam will follow Mom’s lead; he always has. Mom and Dad met you at the party and liked you, and of course they adore Fiona. So I talked to Mom about bringing you ‘round to meet them.”
“WHAT?” I thought, My goodness, Rob moves fast!
He looked at me with those remarkable eyes, eyes that were dark gray but somehow so much more, and dropped his light tone. “I told you, Cami. I don’t play around. I’m serious about you. About us. It may work and it may not; time will tell. But in the meantime I’m not going to hedge my bets. Sure as hell, I’m not going to hide our relationship.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Well, actually, yes I did. “I love you, Rob. And I’m proud to be seen with you, anytime, anywhere. I just don’t want to be the cause of any hurt coming to you. And, plenty of people will be scandalized.”
“The only people whose opinions would cause me any hurt are the ones I mentioned. . . . Which brings me back to bringing you ‘round to meet Mom and Dad.”
“But we’re quarantined,” I said. “We can’t . . . .”
He stopped me with an upraised palm. “Thought of that, actually. We should be clear – barring any relapses – by Easter Sunday. And, based on my conversation – just laying the groundwork, you understand – Mom and Dad have been isolating as well, and will through Easter.”
Rob’s office had also gone to remote work “until further notice,” so his dad would be working from home. “Sam can’t, so he won’t be able to join us. And unfortunately Henry and Fiona can’t join us because Fi is exposed to COVID every day, as you know. So, it’ll just be the four of us.”
“You’re too devious for your own good,” I said, faintly. “Aren’t you supposed to call mate in three, or something?”
He smiled wickedly. “I would, but it’s almost 6:30 and you need to talk to your dragon. So mating will have to wait. Such a shame!” He pulled a face.
I groaned, then went to talk to my dragon.
I had assured Fiona that neither of us had suffered any relapse and turned to what was really on my mind. “So, you knew what Rob was up to?”
“I did. And I approved. Wholeheartedly.” I could practically see the satisfied smile on her face, even though we weren’t doing a video call.
I growled at her.
She giggled in response. “Look, Cami . . . I wasn’t playing matchmaker. Rob was very concerned that he would hurt you – a concern that showed a lot of sensitivity on his part. I gave him an honest answer. I didn’t think your bad experience at Christmas would cause you to have a strong negative reaction if he let you know how he felt, even though I’m sure that trauma left scars.”
She shrugged. “Beyond that, I figured you were capable of saying ‘No’ if you weren’t interested. And I know that Rob’s adult enough to handle a rejection, so I wasn’t worried for you that way, either. What did you want me to say?”
“Something – almost anything – to me? You know? Your little sister? Just maybe?”
But she could tell from my tone that I wasn’t really upset. She giggled again. “What? And spoil the surprise? C’mon, Cami, dish! How’d he do?”
I laughed. “All right, you win. And . . . he was wonderful.” Becoming more serious, I said, “I’m in love, Fi. So much it scares me, especially because it’s come so fast. The last two weeks have been intense. I feel like I’ve lived half a lifetime since I left Baltimore.”
“You kind of have. I mean, sure, you’ve only really known each other a couple of weeks, discounting your brief encounters last Christmas. But it’s not like you’ve just been on a handful of dates. You’ve been living in the same space 24/7, you’ve helped each other recover from a life-threatening illness and you’ve dealt with Iain’s death. I’d think you know each other better than most couples who’ve been dating for months, if not longer.”
“Yeah . . . It’s not that I don’t think we know each other, exactly.” I was trying to articulate what was troubling me, but it wasn’t coming.
“Are you worried that the intensity of your feelings – or Rob’s – is somehow bound up in everything that’s been going on for you both?”
“I’ve been asking myself that for over a week,” I admitted. “And I’m sure the answer is ‘No.’ Positive. But how would I know? It’s like trying to judge your own boat’s speed when you don’t know how the tide is running.”
Fi, thankfully, did not simply laugh off my worries. “That sounds like a good reason not to leap into a long-term commitment tomorrow. Give yourselves time. You’re still planning to go back to DC, aren’t you? Not quitting work to become a kept woman?”
“I have to go,” I said, with extreme reluctance. “And I hate the thought of going. But . . . I think . . . .” I paused, doing just that.
Fiona waited, silently.
Finally I said, “I think this girl stuff is hard, Fi. That’s what I think.”
“That it is.” I could feel her smile in her words. “But you’re doing fine at it. Really. Just . . . don’t wait so long to reach out, okay? I’m here for you.”
“Thanks. I just know how busy you are, and how important what you are doing is. I don’t want to be a distraction. But on the other hand . . . .” I stopped again, this time because I found myself choking up.
I pressed on. “On the other hand, it kills me that you are five frickin’ minutes from where I am right now, and I can’t even see you and give you a hug.” Then I added, “Dammit, I told myself I was not going to cry!”
“I know, Sweetie.” Suddenly she sounded bone-tired, all the late nights and early mornings and weekends and holidays and the long parade of the sick, the scared, and the dying, grinding her down like golden wheat tossed between great, grim millstones. “I know. But talking to you, talking to Henry . . . it’s keeping me alive. Until the day when I can hug you both again. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t Fi,” I said, my voice reduced to a horse whisper. “I won’t.”
We signed off before I remembered that I had meant to ask her about Rob and Henry’s parents.
It was a busy day. I had to get back to my insurance research, and I needed to send off forms to finish my name change petition. I had to give the firm’s IT wizards remote access to my laptop to install additional software (including, I was amused to see, Zoom). And, I needed to respond to emails from work colleagues expressing support and condolences. I received particularly lovely emails from both Daviana and – more surprising still – from David.
But I managed to squeeze in time for a video call to Nicole and Maggie; I hadn’t spoken to them since the cremation. “I can’t begin to tell you how much that meant to me – and to Fiona, too. Where did you find that music?”
“Even Opera singers do weddings and funerals,” Maggie said with a laugh. “We’ve both sung verses of that piece before, but the verse that Nicole sang seemed especially right, given everything you’ve told us about Iain and your family.”
“Oh, it was! It was!” I told them about my temporary relocation to Boston following my issues with the motel in Mt. Vernon.
Nicole was mortified – she had picked the motel – but I was quick to reassure her.
“It was a perfect motel,” I said. “Couldn’t have been better in terms of the rooms, the layout, the location. They freaked out about COVID, but everyone’s doing that right now. It didn’t surprise me. I would have paid up and left quietly – we didn’t need to stay in that area after Iain passed. But they really pissed me off. I’m afraid I took a pound of flesh.”
“You sound like you regret doing that,” Nicole said, puzzled. Not “disappointed” puzzled. Just puzzled.
“I wouldn’t say I regret it, exactly. I don’t react well to bullying, and I don’t like to reward bullies. But I also know that people are scared right now, and they’re lashing out in ways they probably wouldn’t otherwise. It’s an especially good time to cut people a break, and I couldn’t bring myself to. I actually enjoyed roughing up that douchebag lawyer. And . . . well. I guess that’s not being my best self.”
Nicole said, “When you’re good you’re good . . . “
Maggie flawlessly finished the quote, “ . . . and when you’re bad you’re better!” They giggled.
Then I giggled. “All right, you got me,” I said, wiping my eyes.
Maggie said, “Girl, the world’s full of jackals. You shouldn’t lose any sleep over . . . ah . . . thinning the herd, now and then.”
Nicole, perhaps more attuned to the things I wasn’t saying, asked how I was getting along with Rob. “You guys were kind of thrown together. That could’ve gone really badly but obviously didn’t, since you're at his place. Are you guys an item?”
This was kind of tricky ground for me. In part because Nicole and I had been intimate (even though we’re both attracted to men, mostly), and partly because the three of us had made plans concerning getting through the pandemic. But I also wasn’t going to lie.
“We’re an item.” I was pleased to see that both Nicole and Maggie were genuinely thrilled for me.
But when the hubbub died down, I said, “It’s been very intense, these last few weeks. I don’t think I could have made it without Rob. But we haven’t talked about what comes after our quarantine period. I’ve got a life down south. A job, and friends. Ohana. He has a job, and friends, and family, here. People manage long-distance relationships. I’ve done it myself. I don’t know how that’ll work with a pandemic going on, but . . . we’ll figure something out.”
Nicole looked at me with her soft brown eyes – eyes that always seemed to see and understand me. “Cami – promise me. Do what’s right for you this time. Not what you think we want, or Rob wants, or your sister, your firm, or anyone else. You. You have such a big heart, but sometimes, you have to be reminded to show yourself some love, too. So I’m reminding you. Okay?”
“Okay, Nicole. I promise. Pinkie swear, even. God, I love you guys!”
“L'arte schermendo, l'arte adoprando”
– Mozart, Le Nozze di Figaro, Se vuol ballare (Aria)
Boston, Massachusetts, April 3
I set up at Rob’s dining room table, a strong, steady light source in front of me. My face made up in a very understated, professional look that nonetheless allowed my blue eyes to pop. Black blazer over a cream-white shell. Liz’s watch. Tear-drop earrings. Hair in my favorite over-the-shoulder loose braid. I had even FaceTimed with Al the previous evening so that he could walk me through the process of thinning and shaping my eyebrows.
It was my debut as Camryn Elizabeth Campbell, Esq. A Zoom debut, but still.
And, it was going to be a doozy, because the only other people on the call would be the members of the Firm’s Management Committee. Which is to say, the people who actually ran the business where I worked, managing over a thousand lawyers in nine different offices. They were naturally focused on finding ways to navigate the pandemic, and were interested in my experience with COVID – with isolation and quarantine, and with the illness itself.
So I had spent a chunk of time the previous day just learning the new technology. What it could do, what it couldn’t, and how to optimize it for work. I had done test calls with Rob and with Liz (who had been stunned when I told her that I had taken the long version of her name as one of my own; I do love surprising Liz!). I had spent some time learning about backgrounds, and Rob had called a local photography shop and gotten a green screen delivered.
Eileen was acting as the “host” for the call, and she had arranged to have the two of us join first, a few minutes before the scheduled meeting. I joined the call and was put in the virtual “waiting room.” But she didn’t know that establishing the waiting room meant that she had to affirmatively let me in, so we had a side call where I explained it.
This was a work call and Eileen was all business. But the twinkle in her eyes and the smile that periodically danced across her lips told me that she was enjoying the chance to finally see the flowering of my female persona. It looked like she was calling in from her house; sunlight was streaming across her face, highlighting the left side and casting the right in shadow.
The other seven members of the committee began to join. All very senior attorneys with storied careers and decades of experience. Highly respected, both in their specialized areas and within the firm.
As a result, it was what Rob might call a Charlie Foxtrot.
Rafe Oliveira, the Chairman of the Management Committee, couldn’t figure out how to turn on his video feed. Three members were so badly backlit that their faces were essentially invisible. Two had audio issues – one couldn’t hear, the other was mute. It took fifteen minutes and some step-by-step instructions – mostly from me – just to get to the point where everyone could see, hear, be heard, and (mostly) be seen.
Oliveira smiled wryly. He had a broad, dark face, hair as dark as Rob’s, and a deep, powerful bass – the kind of voice you would cast to sing the role of a villain in an opera. “I’m sorry, Ms. Campbell,” he said. “You don’t appear to have caught us at our best.”
“Please, call me Camryn,” I responded, adding, “and there’s no need to apologize. This software isn’t intuitive. But it is very good.”
“You seem to be very familiar with it?” His inflection made a question out of the statement, and he raised a bushy black eyebrow to reinforce the query.
“I’ve only used it once before yesterday, but I’ve used Skype and FaceTime quite a bit. I spent several hours really learning how to use it yesterday, and honestly I think it will have a huge impact on the practice of law, even after the pandemic.”
“God, I hope not,” groaned one of the other committee members. William Hoskins. I knew the name from having looked up all of them before the meeting; his square on the screen was one of six that lacked a name identifier.
Trudy Wilson, somewhat more diplomatically, said, “I can see advantages compared to voice-only calls, but it doesn’t seem like a very good substitute for in-person communications. Not sure that’s a revolution.” Since the issue was above my paygrade and wasn’t why they’d asked to speak with me, I decided to keep a demure and respectful silence.
Eileen had other ideas. “Can you explain your thinking, Camryn?” Her face showed nothing but curiosity. Others, not so much.
But Oliveira said, “Yes, I’d like to hear it,” and I assumed he was in charge. At the very least, the primus inter pares.
Fortunately, I had been thinking a lot about this, weaving together insights from Fiona about the likely course of the pandemic and insights from Rob – and Henry – concerning financial and business matters.
Trying to project both humility and confidence – not the easiest of combinations! – I said, “Of course. But, there are a couple of factors that lead me to that conclusion. It may take a few minutes to explain. If you’d prefer, I can write it up; I know you have other things you wanted to discuss.”
The Chairman looked at the images of his colleagues on the screen. “I think we can spare a couple minutes. Please go ahead; we might ask for a write-up later.”
“Thank you. The first factor is savings in cost and time. Calls like this aren’t as good as in-person meetings. But they’re pretty good, and they are much, much cheaper. And more efficient, and logistically simple. You can have a one-hour meeting with people all over the world, and it will take one hour, everyone who has that one hour available will be able to attend, and it’ll cost you around $50 a month. Planning the meeting will take almost no time. And once clients see that those cost savings are available, they will push hard to have them adopted. Certainly by outside contractors, like lawyers.
“Second, the main barrier to widespread adoption of these cheaper technologies is that they aren’t familiar, and everyone has to be trained how to use them. That takes time, and the time it takes feels wasteful, and busy people always have better things to do. People like judges are particularly resistant to spending time that way. They don’t have to worry about how much trouble it is for parties and their lawyers to attend a hearing; they just order them to appear.
“But – and this is the most important point – everyone is going to have to learn the technologies now, whether we want to or not. We’ll have to. These lockdowns are going to be ongoing for some time. Until we get effective vaccines or therapeutics – and that’s going to be months away. Worst case scenario, years away.
“I’m not a doctor, but my sister is. And, she works in the infectious disease department at MassGeneral. This won’t be over by Easter, or Memorial Day, or Labor Day. At the very least, people can’t assume it will be. And that means they’ll have to learn how to operate remotely, including through video conferencing. Once the tech is widespread and understood, there will be no way to go back. The economic reality won’t allow it.”
I stopped talking. No one else started.
They were all looking at each other, a bit shell-shocked. A few looked rebellious; a couple looked sad.
I felt my confidence waiver. Had I been too outspoken? Especially for a very junior associate? But . . . the conclusion seemed almost inevitable to me, almost like a math equation. Or the point in a chess game when the number of good moves becomes vanishingly small.
But of course, there are always bad moves . . . .
Finally, Oliveira shook his head like he was clearing it. “Well, you’ve given this a lot of thought and I think it’s fair to say we haven’t. But it’s pretty clear to me that we need to. Perhaps we can put together an ad hoc committee to look more closely about possible long-term practice impacts and how we can prepare ourselves for them?”
His colleagues were nodding; their looks ranged from intrigued (Eileen) to resigned (including Wilson and Oliveira) to positively sour (Hoskins). But they all saw the need.
The Chairman said, “Eileen, will you set it up? And Camryn, will you be on the committee?”
We both agreed.
He segued easily to the real topic for the meeting. They asked me questions about my recent experiences. They wanted information they could use to help formulate policies on when people should not be in the office, regardless of lockdowns, how long people should be out, what work expectations might be reasonable for people in lockdown or quarantine.
I explained that, of the three cases I was personally familiar with, our experiences had been wildly different.
Iain and I had quickly lost our senses of taste and smell; Rob never had. Rob and Iain each had pretty bad coughs and periods of very high fever. My cough had never gotten as bad, nor had my fever been as high though it had lasted longer. Iain had, of course, gotten progressively weaker and eventually had so much trouble breathing that he had to go on oxygen, then be intubated. Rob alone had experienced severe headaches and sensitivity to light.
Trying to give a sense of work during the illness was hard. “For both myself and Mr. Hutchinson, the fever and muscle aches left us pretty fatigued; we couldn’t work for more than an hour or two at a time before needing a couple of hours of rest. And, even before I was sick myself, looking after my brother was very time-consuming. Just trying to keep his fever down meant he needed medicine throughout the night.”
I explained that the post-sickness quarantine period was a completely different story. “At this point, I can work remotely while in quarantine as much, and almost as efficiently, as I’d be able to do at my desk.”
Mr. Hoskins interjected, “Well, you certainly found a nice place to set up shop.”
I shook my head. “Actually, I haven’t, if you’ll forgive me. I only appear to be working in a big, beautiful library. But that’s only one of the benefits of this technology. The library is just a background photo that I found online; it’s at Princeton, I think. I’m currently in an apartment in Boston.”
I turned off the wallpaper and the greenscreen appeared behind me.
This time their eyes really popped. “Ha!” said Jason Tandy, one of the younger members of the committee (he might be no more than fifty!). “Now that's useful!”
After a few more questions, Oliveira took a silent poll of his colleagues with his eyes and wrapped up this part of their meeting. “Camryn, thank you for your time today. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, and I’m sure you would rather not remember it. And on behalf of all of us, we’re very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, sir. And let me also thank all of you for the firm’s support when I was looking after Iain, and when I was sick. But most of all, for supporting my transition. Lots of places have good diversity policies on paper; you’ve gone way beyond that. I . . . I’m grateful. Of course. But I’m also so very, very proud to be part of this firm.”
I dropped off the call; they had many more things to discuss.
I got an email from Eileen about three hours later asking if I had a moment.
I went back to my impromptu studio and lit it up.
This time Eileen had proper lighting on her face and a non-distracting blank wall behind her. She looked gleeful. “Cami, you were great! Even the people who didn’t like what you were saying had to concede that you made good points!”
“I was pretty worried that I’d overstepped my bounds.” Bill Hoskin’s sour face came to mind.
But Eileen thought not. “No, they didn’t think you were speaking out of turn or too big for your own britches. Or skirt, I suppose.” She grinned. “You didn’t come across as arrogant. More thoughtful, really. It’s just that a number of our members don’t like the thought that they, personally, might have to change. To learn new things, and to learn them from our juniors.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be too hard on them – on ‘us,’ more accurately. We’ve all been successful in the world as it existed before. We know how that world works, and we know our place in it. So it’s natural that we might hope the world would just stop spinning. But it never has.”
One of the things that Eileen was happiest about was that I had demonstrated that it wasn’t enough for the firm to just buy new software and tech. People had to get trained in it.
“Everyone on that committee is bright and capable. But not one of us took the time to actually learn how to use Zoom after IT installed it. We figured we’d just muddle through. And you popped in looking like a TV anchor in a studio, and made us – the best of the best, legends in our own minds – look like the Beverly Hillbillies. The ‘Not-Yet-Ready-for-Primetime-Players.’ It was perfect.”
Smiling broadly, she added, “I guarantee you that the next time we meet, each one of them will have learned how to make that damned program hum, and they’ll insist that everyone they work with will, too.”
“That doesn’t sound like a career-enhancing move on my part,” I said tentatively.
She snorted. “I don’t recommend making a habit of it. Especially not with Rafe; he’s more prickly than you’d think. But – and it’s an important ‘but’ – this time was different. Since COVID hit we’ve consistently been behind the curve, just waiting and reacting, doing the minimum necessary. We need to start managing this crisis. Actively. Finding the opportunities rather than just circling the waggons and hunkering down. We needed a kick in the ass, and we didn’t even realize it.”
“And now that it’s just us girls,” she said, smiling, “You look great! And everything about how you present just seems right. And natural. I’m very happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I can’t begin to tell you how much it has meant to me, to have you as a mentor. I don’t know how I could have navigated all this. Any of this, really.”
She smiled. “Somehow, I think you’d have managed. But it’s been my privilege, Cami. Really it has.”
“La danse au chant se mariait”
– Bizet, Carmen, Chanson Bohemienne (Aria)
Boston, Massachusetts, April 5
“No . . . No!!! Left foot, Cami!” Rob’s right foot stopped just short of my left foot, which was, alas, still in its path. My right foot was behind me, where it wasn’t supposed to be. Rob’s forward motion, and my lack of a truly corresponding backward motion, brought us even more closely together. I leaned forward and fluttered an eyelash against his cheek.
“Sorry,” I said. But I got a kiss out of it, so I wasn’t all that sorry. And anyway, I was in his arms, so it was all good.
His right hand was resting on my back and his left hand held my right. We had pushed the living room furniture back to the walls and he was, at my request, teaching me how to waltz.
We tried again. I wasn’t used to dancing with a partner, or really to dancing at all. I had done a lot of cheer routines as a form of exercise, and those were carefully choreographed and followed set patterns. This felt similar, but it was much more fun to do it with Rob.
“Okay,” he said, “Right leg back . . . left leg back . . . right leg left . . . left foot forward . . . right foot forward . . . left foot right . . . Aaaand again . . . .” He was graceful and coordinated.
I felt the need to rise to the occasion. I don’t know how I looked, but I felt wonderful, just moving together, locked close.
We did the basic box step over and over, banking it into muscle memory. Rob stopped calling out the movements after a bit, and then once we had started to look better, he asked, “Strauss or Chopin?”
“Normally I’d take Chopin any day. But, sorry . . . I’ve got to do this to The Blue Danube!”
He laughed and made the selection. Before, it had felt wonderful; with music, it was magic. I felt positively elegant, and I was only dressed in exercise clothes. But I only had to close my eyes to imagine gliding over a dance floor, wearing something that flowed and moved like a silken banner in a breeze, following the lead of this amazing dancer. That would be heaven!
The music stopped and he bowed.
I dropped a curtsy, lowering my head and holding out my imaginary skirt.
He took my hand and raised me up.
I was lost in those dark eyes again, melting my body against his, running my hands over the strong muscles of his back, his shoulders. Our lips closed together and the world was, once more, just Rob and me and the great, powerful thing that held us together – held us and transformed us. One dance ended, another began.
We needed more practice.
Boston, Massachusetts, April 6
“Good morning, Cami,” Fiona said.
“Good morning to you, too,” I responded. “Now do me a favor: Hang up, put your coat on and meet me out front. I want to see you this morning.”
“Cami, it’s forty degrees out,” she started to say, before blurting, “but forget that! I’ll be right there!” Two minutes later, she was out her front door.
I was out on the sidewalk. Fifteen feet away, masked. We both were. “I just had to see you,” I said through the fabric. “I can’t come in, I can’t hug you. But I wanted to see you, for real. In the flesh.”
Her smile was covered, but it was apparent from her eyes. “Thanks, Cami,” she said. “I appreciate it. I really do. It’s been frustrating with you here, and in some ways as far apart as you were in Baltimore. Though, I didn’t expect to see you on my doorstep at 6:30 in the morning!”
I looked at her carefully. The strain of the past months was evident in every movement, in every line of her face. But still . . . . “Damn, it’s good to see you . . . So good.”
Boston, Massachusetts, April 7
“Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, a short run is nine and his nobs is ten. And . . . that should do it!” I said, moving my peg into the cribbage board’s end zone. “Gotcha. I mean, gotcha again.” I grinned.
“Witch,” Rob replied. “Mere mortals don’t get those cards. Not three games running!”
“Well, if you can’t cover your bet,” I said, batting my eyelashes, “I think I can come up some acceptable payment alternatives.”
He leered at me. “Hmmm, what did you have in mind, little girl?”
Without taking my eyes off him, I started to slowly unbutton my shirt. “Oh, a little of this,” I sucked on my index finger, pulled it out slowly. “And maybe a little of that.”
He got that hungry look in his eyes, again. I expect mine looked no different. Rob’s continuing interest – his obvious, never hidden desire for my body – mine! – had eroded my doubts, my fears. I couldn’t believe my good fortune, but he gave me ample proof, day after day, that I should.
He had me back in his arms just as I released the last button and gently lifted the shirt from my shoulders, allowing it to slide down my arms and onto the floor. His hands went round to my back and pulled me close . . . closer. His clever fingers made short work of the hooks on the back of my bra and he eased it off, pulling the straps forward so that it, too, could slide down my arms.
To my alarm and mortification, my right breast fell with the bra. I froze, instantly out of the mood, panicked. God, I’m a freak!!!!
Rob caught me before I could flee. His hands were on my shoulders, then his right hand slid behind my neck, keeping me close. Keeping me looking at him. “Cami,” he said softly. “Don’t. Don’t worry. Don’t panic. Don’t run. I appreciate that you want me to see your body at its best. But you don’t need help to be beautiful.”
I was shaking like a leaf, unable to speak. Unable to even move my hands.
He reached down and began to stroke the skin that had just become exposed. He kept speaking, softly, gentling me as a trainer might calm a skittish racehorse. “I love you, Cami. And I want you. This doesn’t change anything.” His fingers glided across my nipple.
I felt something like an electric shock. “OH!” I squeeked, startled.
“Interesting,” he said, savoring the word like a master sommelier sampling a new and intriguing vintage. “Veeerry interesting.”
He stroked the nipple again.
Again I felt like he had found a direct nerve connection to my brain. Stroke, stroke, squeeze . . . . Suddenly, I was breathing heavily and feeling very hot indeed.
“Cami,” he said carefully, “I would really like it if you would remove your other prosthetic.”
I stared at him, still panicked.
He just squeezed my nipple again.
Almost of their own volition, my hands came up and peeled off my artificial left breast.
He gently took it from me and set it on the table beside us. Then both his hands were on my chest – my real chest – and his thumbs were teasing my nipples.
I had never experienced anything like that sensation. I felt like my insides were becoming liquid and warm. My knees felt weak.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured, channeling Lewis Carroll.
I couldn’t say anything in response.
He led me, unresisting, into the bathroom, where he soaped up his hands and began to clean the residual adhesive from my chest, in the process teasing my sensitive skin and sending me into a frenzy.
I was so aroused I could scarcely see straight, much less think straight. And, without knowing quite how, I found that I had slipped down to my knees, and my hands were engaged in a bit of payback with the hard bulge in his pants.
Before he could do much more than chuckle, I had his pants and underwear off, aided by the fact that he didn’t wear shoes around the house.
“Cami? You don’t have to. . . .”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his thought. Never taking my eyes off of his, I fondled him, then gave him baby kisses. I caressed his balls. By the time I slid the head of his cock into my mouth, he was clutching the countertop and panting even more than I had.
It’s hard to explain why I loved it so much. Many women don’t, so it’s not inextricably linked to my femininity. It did, very much, feel like an act of submission, but I felt no shame in that. It wasn’t the submission of a slave, it was the free surender of ego, an acknowledgement of the power of my lover’s regard.
Most obviously, it was driving him wild, and nothing made me feel happier, or more womanly, or more fulfilled or sexier than the knowledge that I could give him so much pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Finally, though, I simply loved the way he felt. His cock was hard and hot and alive, and for a few precious moments, it was mine. I caressed and kissed and sucked and pumped and watched him thrash in pleasure. I felt his explosion coming and positioned myself to swallow it all. I didn’t love that part, but I loved him, and that was what mattered.
He groaned and slipped to join me on the bathroom floor.
I steadied him and rested my forehead against his. “That’ll teach you. Fondling my nipples!”
He closed his amazing eyes as if he was saying a prayer. “Consider me schooled!”
Later that night, when Rob was sleeping, I went into the bathroom and examined my bare chest. I hadn't noticed any change before, but my nipples definitely looked larger, darker, and puffier than usual. Sure as hell they were more sensitive!
Is it possible that my breasts are beginning to bud?
“Non v'ha amor se non v'è libertà”
– Verdi, Rigoletto, Questa o quella (Aria)
Boston, Massachusetts, April 8
I was deep into a new project for work when I got the “all hands” memo announcing that remote work would continue until at least May 15. It was late in the workday and well past the close of the markets, so I decided I could legitimately clock off. I made a French Press full of coffee, pausing again to marvel at the aroma. At the door of the study, I knocked lightly and popped my head in.
He had headphones on, but waved me in. I handed him a cup and he blew me a kiss before I left, shutting the door.
He came out a few minutes later and found me in the living room, occupying one of his comfortable leather chairs, my legs tucked on the seat. Leaning down, he gave me a kiss. “Thank you, Sweetie. Just what I needed.” He sat facing me in a matching chair. “You done for the day?”
I nodded. “The firm’s not bringing people back until Mid-May, at earliest. But hard to say. You know Fi’s view: it’ll be longer.”
It was his turn to nod. “Probably time for us to have that talk we’ve been avoiding, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Stay or go? I certainly can work remotely from here just as easily as I can from Opera House.” I paused, then fell silent.
Rob watched me carefully, then set his mug down. “Cami, we’re dancing around this. I think because we love each other and we don't want to hurt each other. So let me put out a few things, just to be clear about where I’m coming from. How I feel.
“I want to be with you. Right now, I can’t move. I’m needed here too much. I have people who are depending on me. I can do a lot of it remotely, but not for the kind of time frames Fi has been talking about. So I’d be delighted if you stayed. Overjoyed. Thrilled. But I can’t ask you to. I know you have the same sorts of cross-pressures I do.”
“I love you, too, Rob. And I want to be with you, and it’s so tempting to just go on as we have been going. But . . . I also need to get back. It’s not just because I promised. Nicole and Maggie would forgive me. In fact, Nicole made me promise to do what was right for me.” I was having trouble going on. It’s so hard!
But Rob just waited patiently for me to continue.
“I was in a relationship before where I became kind of a social appendage,” I said. “My partner’s friends became my friends; I didn’t have friends of my own. I’ve started to make my own life now, and develop wonderful friendships. I don’t want to lose them, or become just an appendage again.”
“I see that,” Rob said, “though there are probably ways to avoid it.”
I wanted to feel his arms around me so badly. But I needed to get through this first. “I know. And I agree. But it’s more than that. I said I would help Nicole and Maggie get through this pandemic, but this isn’t just about duty. It’s something I want to do too. We have projects we are planning, and activities, and I wanted to help make it all happen. I was excited about it. I still am.”
I took a deep breath and kept going. “And . . . finally, there’s so much I still need to learn about being a woman. It’s more than just how to dress, or use cosmetics, or even how to walk and talk. Or the medical part, though that’s important too, and all my doctors are in Baltimore.
“There’s a poetry to it, a rhythm. It’s just different. When I touch it, when I find myself in that rhythm, it feels natural. Like I’m remembering something I used to know. But I still need to work at it. Too learn, or relearn. And, in all the world, I don’t think I could find better teachers than my roommates.”
Rob stood up and held out his hands.
I gratefully allowed him to pull me up, but he didn’t immediately fold me into his arms.
Instead, he held my hands. “If our love can’t survive a period of being apart, it’s nowhere near as strong as I think it is. We’ll find a way to make it work.”
I was, finally, able to throw myself into his arms. “I love you,” I said through tears that I just couldn’t hold back. “I love you so much it hurts.”
“Ah quell'amor ch'è palpito dell'universo intero”
– Verdi, La Traviata, E strano! e strano! (Aria)
Boston, Massachusetts, April 12
We were finally, officially, out of quarantine. We could, in theory, paint the town, but the town was, to all appearances, empty and unpaintable. The shops were closed. Clubs and bars as well. There was a “voluntary” nighttime curfew and a shelter-in-place order.
There would be no joyous Easter services for us. It was like Narnia at the beginning of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, except that it felt like it would always be Lent and never Easter.
But we had survived COVID, isolation and quarantine. We had only a little while left to spend together, and we would not squander it. Which brought me, in a dress borrowed from my sister (thus requiring the use of a waist cincher), to the doors of a large brownstone in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood. Rob’s parents’ house.
Rob gave me a look. “Ready?”
“Ready,” I answered, hoping it was true.
He briefly touched my cheek. “Relax. They’ll like you. You’ll like them. Really.” Then he opened the door, sang out a “Halloo,” and led me inside.
Rob’s mother was the first to greet us. Anne Shaw Hutchinson was several inches shorter than me even in modest heels. Her hair, which was cut full off of her shoulders, was a rich shade of auburn, and her eyes were a warm brown, a bit darker than Nicole’s.
Interestingly, she came to me first, captured both my hands, and said, “Cami! I’m so glad you could come! Then she gave me a gentle, but very sincere, hug of welcome. “Thank you so much for bringing him back safe.”
Rob’s father George had come in after Anne and had given Rob a hug when I was talking with Anne. Seen together, they were very alike. Rob was a smidgen taller – In my pumps, I was just under 6’1”; Rob was still a bit taller but George wasn’t. Same rectangular face, same hair and eyebrows, but George, like me, had blue eyes. Unlike Rob, George wore a short beard that made his face look longer.
He turned to me and smiled warmly. “Welcome, Cami!” I got a hug as well, and George’s hug was firm, conveying nothing but genuine warmth. The butterflies under my waist cincher finally started to settle, though they hadn’t folded their wings yet.
The room immediately to the right of the entrance was a large, octagonal parlor or living room, where the three sides facing the street held large windows set in mahogany sills and frames. The ceiling was probably twelve feet high. I thought it must be a bear to heat it, but it looked stunning. Something out of Way “Better Homes and Gardens.” The room had a large fireplace and a natural wood fire was crackling merrily.
Anne guided us to seats by the fire, where they had laid out some nibbles.
George took our coats. Then he got drink orders, poured some wine, and sat down to join us.
Talking with George and Anne was like getting one of Rob’s massages. The initial touch was feather light, but slowly and surely they slid the conversation around to topics that were deeper, easing any tensions rather than fighting them. And they did it effortlessly, because between the two of them their interests were almost encyclopedic.
We talked about medicine – a topic very much on all of our minds – and Anne was keen to hear Rob’s insights on therapeutics and, in particular, mRNA vaccines. George had apparently gotten that brief from Rob already, in his capacity as Hutchinson Investments’ chief strategist, but he joined the conversation with great interest.
Apparently the firm was contributing to the Governor’s effort to convert the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center into a field hospital. “That was Fiona,” George said. “Henry brought it to us. Hopefully it will make a difference.”
Anne smiled. “I just love your sister, Cami. She is the most amazing, most dedicated woman . . . all of this is taking such a toll on her.”
Well, anyone who loves Fi starts high in my good graces!
We talked about baseball – of course! – and George and I commiserated over the possible loss of the whole season. It was hard to imagine spring without baseball.
Anne was a tennis enthusiast, but COVID had also forced the suspension of ATP tournaments since early March.
We talked about theater, and about music. George and Anne were both very knowledgeable about opera and wanted to know all about my roommates – another subject on which I was always delighted to wax poetic.
Anne was very interested in our idea for an opera-themed podcast. “That would be fabulous!” she said. “We’re all focused on survival, and we should be. But surviving right now means brutally hard work for some people, and home detention for the rest of us. Finding ways to connect, to be able to engage with each other about life and love and beauty and art . . . that can keep us all going. Keep us sane.”
“Civilization?” I said, making it a question and directing it to George. Rob had told me why his father had insisted that his boys become culturally literate.
George immediately understood the reference, and smiled fondly at his son. “I see someone’s been telling tales out of school. But that’s exactly right. We need to save lives, and we need to keep our civilization alive, too. It was already in bad shape even before the pandemic.”
And that, in turn, led us into a conversation about America’s deepening cultural and political divisions.
We had been talking about all manner of things for over two hours when George took Rob off to the kitchen to help him with something he was cooking.
Anne smiled at their retreating backs, still charmed, as I was, by the fact that in this household, the kitchen was not an exclusively female preserve. “I do more cooking than George, but he’s got more talent and usually takes care of special meals. Which gives me more time to talk with people – the thing I really enjoy most.”
She turned those kind brown eyes on me. “And I’ve really wanted to spend some time with you. I can see how close you and Rob have become in such a short time. He’s had such a hard time connecting with people – I mean, really connecting – since he came back from Afghanistan. And I’m his mom, so I worry!”
I decided to address the elephant in the room. “Anne, I have to ask: does it bother you – either of you – that Rob is dating me? I’m not exactly what parents dream about for their children.”
Anne didn’t pretend to misunderstand me, and she was blessedly direct. “What George and I have dreamed about for our boys is that they will find someone to share their lives with, as fully and completely and joyfully as George and I have these past thirty-seven years. That’s all we care about, and I mean that. Rob is pretty obviously very attracted to you. I can’t for the life of me understand why your being trans should bother us, if it doesn’t bother him.”
Clearly she wasn’t seeing conviction in my eyes. She came over and sat by me on the couch, in the place Rob had vacated, and took my hands in hers. “Rob told us that you would be worried we might not accept you. Please don’t be. We aren’t like that, and I’m proud to say that our boys aren’t like that.”
“Thank you. I just didn’t know what to expect, from . . . well. This is all very far removed from my own experience.”
She smiled. “The whole ‘Boston Brahmin’ thing?”
I nodded.
“We’re not all like Chip,” she said with some asperity. My face must have asked a question, and she said, “George told me, second hand, about your conversations with his nibs. I got more from Gooney, of course, she and I have been herding Hutchinsons now for four decades and she’s closer than my own sisters. I guess Chip said he was uncomfortable about your being trans?”
“To be fair, he also offered me a job.”
She smiled again. “That’s Chip. Never waste good talent! But don’t think I’m dumping on him; he’s a wonderful man as well as a doting husband. He just has a black-and-white view of the world, which is part of the reason he’s the right person for his job. He makes quick decisions and doesn’t agonize over nuances. So you make Chip uncomfortable, because you don’t fit neatly into the binary categories he uses to create order out of chaos. But George and I are more comfortable with a color palette that isn’t limited to black and white.”
“Cornelius seems much older than your husband. Is that why they’re so different?”
“Partly. Chip is six years older, and he is the oldest. I think you would agree that makes a difference?”
I nodded fervently, thinking of the dynamics between Fi and me, or for that matter between Iain and Fi, when Iain was still with us.
“Because Chip was the eldest, I think he bore most of the weight of his father’s expectations, and that was a pretty heavy burden,” she said.
“The ‘Tai Pan’?”
She laughed. “Oh, you've heard that one, have you? Yeah, the old man was really something. But impressive, too. Very impressive. Just . . . well, let me just say talking to him was a bit like talking to New Hampshire’s ‘Old Man of the Mountain,’ back before it fell.”
She asked some questions about me, and seemed genuinely interested in my journey into womanhood. When I told her that I had started taking hormones a month ago, she was surprised.
“I assumed you had already gone through hormone therapy. I never picked up anything that would have led me to question whether you were female when we first met. Once I knew, I was able to look. And even then, any ‘tells’ are pretty subtle.”
She was surprisingly familiar with trans-related issues and asked questions about voice therapy that displayed a solid understanding of the mechanics and the challenges. When I asked, she said, “George and Rob do their homework; I do mine. Obviously, I know a bit about your family because of Fiona, but I wanted to know more about you. Who is this person, who finally got through Rob’s very smooth, but very hard shell? You know. Just . . . being a mom.”
I could only shake my head. My own mother was, to put it mildly, not like that. At all.
Rob and George eventually called us in to dinner. George had done a masterful job grilling some New England salmon to perfection, adding olive oil and some delicate herbs to bring out the flavor. With that, we had fingerling potatoes and an asparagus dish that was mouth-watering.
“There were times during my illness when I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to smell or taste anything again,” I told them. “When a wonderful meal like this would just be . . . food. Fuel. And I had never really thought, before then, how important good food is. How much it centers our social interactions. It’s . . . .”
I paused, looking for the word, but Rob and George both said, “Civilized.”
“Yes!” I said, “it is. And, God bless civilization!”
After dinner, George suggested a friendly game of chess, but Anne intervened. “No, you don’t! You’ll be at it until curfew, all three of you! Besides . . . George, you might not have heard, but Rob’s been teaching Cami to waltz . . . .”
George’s face lit up and he eagerly took the bait. “Oh, that’s even better!”
George and Rob pulled the leaves from the table, and put the table and chairs against the wall. The space remaining was easily enough for two couples to dance – even a space-eating waltz.
This will be fun!
George did something with his phone, and the opening strains of Chopin’s Waltz in A-flat Major came through speakers in the ceiling. To my surprise, he came and stood in front of me and held out his left hand. I took it with my right, as Rob had taught me, and he pulled me in, resting his right hand lightly on my back, below the level of my left arm. I placed my left hand on his right shoulder, and he led me into the box step.
Rob, meanwhile, partnered his mother. She laughed and said, “You’re entirely too good at this!”
If I had wanted to arrange a test to see whether I made Rob’s father uncomfortable, I would have had a hard time improving on having him waltz with me. But his dancing was smooth, relaxed, and graceful – exactly how you would expect a mature man to dance with a much younger woman when his wife was in the room. He was almost as good as Rob, and dancing with him was a pleasure.
The music ended, he bowed gracefully and I curtsied deeply. Then we switched partners and I was in Rob’s arms, and life was a fine and wonderful thing. He had the full skirt of my light blue cocktail-length dress swirling as we showed off the fruits of our practice sessions.
But as good as Rob was, and as hard as I had practiced, George and Anne put us to shame. There is no way to match what two good dancers can achieve, when they have been partnering for decades. It was like watching water flowing over river rocks, liquid and graceful and full of life.
As Rob’s arms came around me in a twirl, I leaned back into his chest, lifted my eyes towards his parents and whispered, “I want that, Rob.”
He spun me back out, and when I was facing him he smiled and held me captive with his amazing eyes. “As you wish,” he promised, making me feel like Buttercup.
Boston, Massachusetts, April 13
My rental car was packed, with Iain’s remains on the floor of the passenger seat. We had made love last night, and then, once more, this morning. The last time was as gentle, as tender, as the first time. But now I was outside and the chill of separation was seeping into my bones.
“Don’t be sad, love,” Rob said softly. “We’ll make this work.” He kissed me gently, his lips a sweet promise. “Love finds a way.”
To be continued . . . .
Comments
Lovely, and a very welcome change of tempo.
This was just what the doctor ordered after the intensity of the last instalment. Yes, a little bit of drama with the Motel's lawyer, but an easy win for Cami.
Also a very good meeting with Cami's bosses, again it isn't always that easy and there are still all too many a***holes out there where T issues are involved. No doubt there will - eventually - be the biggest a***hole to deal with - Cami's father - but fortunately there are more good people in the world, and Rob's family are some of them.
Looking forward to Cami's reunion with Nicole and Maggie.
Alison
Diminuendo . . .
Is harder to write than crescendo — glad it worked!
Emma
Awesome...
Not sure I've ever used that word to describe a story here before. But I'm really awed by this chapter, and this story as a whole: the characters, the action, the relationships and the skill in presenting it -- possibly all the more so, now that the melodrama seems to be past.
It's naive of me, but the fact that these people didn't exist until our author created them and we won't know what they'll do until Emma writes it down seems harder for me to fathom here than it is in most real-world stories. Not sure why that feels different; is there a sharpness here that I don't generally expect? Is it that they've gone through a crisis that to some extent we've all shared in our reality?
Anyway, I really appreciate it, and look forward to it continuing. Thanks, Emma.
Civilized…
That, to stick to one word, says it for me. Agreed: thanks, Emma.
Thanks, Catherd!
And, you are very welcome. ;)
Emma
Thank you, Eric
What a lovely comment! Thank you.
Emma
That last paragraph……
Had me in tears. My spouse and I have spent more time apart than together over the years. Between my time in the service, and later my civilian career, we have probably only been together about 25% of the time. In the service, it would be months or even longer before we saw each other.
Even now, I am away from Monday through Friday, sometimes less, but nearly every week sees me out of the house at least a few days of the week due to my job.
For many, that is a recipe for a broken marriage. For us, with a lot of trust and hard work, we have made it for 37 years. Yes, we have had our issues. Yes, we have had rough spots. But yes, love can find a way.
The key is trust and faith - and making sure that your time together is devoted to family. And before VOIP, a veeerrryyyy expensive phone bill, lol.
I hope Cami and Rob can make it work.
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
Long distance relationships
are so hard. When you can make it work for 37 years . . . that’s a testament to the power of love.
Emma
Very high standards
That Emma Anne keeps. I’m always looking forward to the new chapter. I might be mistaken but I the story might be leaning to the end. Isn’t it ? I’d be sorry though...
Probably
I think I’m getting close to the natural end to the story arc — thematically, if not in terms of time. “Close” is a relative concept, though . . .
Thanks for staying with the story!
Emma
So sweet
Thank you for such a lovely chapter. It truly went the whole gambit, police, technology, and love. It could almost be the last chapter but I sure hope it isn't because I selfishly want to keep enjoying our girl.
>>> Kay
Thank you, Kay!
There’s a bit more left to her story — so glad you are along for the journey!
Emma
An Aria for Cami
Thank you for a wonderful chapter. Splendid developments for the couple and very well handled look back at recent trying times.
Time is the longest distance to your destination.
Couple time
I‘ll admit I enjoyed writing about a quiet time for Cami and Rob’s relationship to flower . . . . Even Wonder Woman needs a break now and then!
Emma
So many want to skip...
Ahead to the last chapter!!! Augh! Killing me not knowing where these two end up.
Nicely done Emma!
XOXOXO
Rachel M. Moore...
I Love Cami
Here's a girl that appreciates REAL coffee. What's not to like?
And I love Rob's parents too. They are the glue that makes "civilized" work.