JCRM

Jillian

The table was lovely, right under one of the skylights towards the centre of the dining room. I always enjoyed the ambiance at The Cinnamon Club, finding the built-in bookshelves lining the walls comforting. Adrienne and I sat next to each other, perusing our menus. I stole a glance at her profile. She was squinting.

“Where are your glasses?”

Adrienne glanced up. “In my car.”

“Shall I read the menu to you?” I asked archly, receiving a scowl in return.

“I can see the menu just fine. I only wear them for reading when I’ve been doing too much work on the computer. Saves me a headache,” she said. “But thank you for your offer.” The last said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Why do you put up with me?”

“Someone must,” she teased. “Besides, you amuse me.”

“You give no quarter.”

“Untrue, Jillian,” she responded, that quirky half-grin forming on her lips as she glanced at me. “I spare you.”

“Only for your further amusement, I’m certain,” I retorted as I finished studying the menu then closed it and placed it on the table. “I’ll have the prawns. No starter. Have you decided?”

“The deer with the masala mash sounds good, although the chicken with the pistachio korma is intriguing. Chicken, I think,” she answered, closing her menu and laying it on the table. “Tell me, how was your meeting this morning?”

“Unproductive. It was around pursuing diversity in the biosciences. If you’re in doubt, we’re still pursuing.”

“I’ve no doubt. Any ideas of interest?”

“A rehashing of the same,” I said, pausing as the waitress came over. We ordered then I continued. “I’m liable to shout at the next person who says we need more women and minorities again without offering a new idea as to how to obtain them.”

Adrienne took a sip of her water. “Until the patriarchal systems are dismantled and replaced with something that’ll work for all, you’ll get no new ideas.”

I gave her a long-suffering look and asked sarcastically, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” she responded, unfazed. “One day I’ll get you to admit you’re a feminist. It’s astonishing you’ve such an aversion to the label, particularly given all you’ve done to promote women in science. You’ve seen the evidence. You know inequality exists. You know the current systems and structures are part of the problem. Yet you attend these meetings where everyone persists in seeking solutions based on flawed systems and structures, and bristle if someone refers to you as a feminist. It’s illogical, Jill.”

A damning statement from someone who worships logic and reason as much as I do.

“Is this to be one of those discussions?” I complained. “I should’ve ordered a drink.”

“No,” she chuckled and looked at me indulgently. “I’ll spare you any attempt at radicalisation today. We can discuss whatever you’d like to discuss.”

“Well, truth be told, I’ve been thinking about why the label bothers me so,” I admitted.

Adrienne’s eyes lit up. “Have you now?”

“Is it so surprising I’d think about the concepts we explore in our discussions?”

“Not surprising at all. I’m extremely pleased my attempt to subvert your thinking is starting to work. You’ve just admitted you’ve a problem with it.” She looked as if she wanted to bounce up and down in her seat and clap. “I can’t wait to order a t-shirt for you. A women’s small, I think,” she said as she inspected my upper body. “Long-sleeved.”

Oh dear god. I could feel heat suffuse my body as her eyes moved over me. The visceral reaction I experienced when we’d first met was shocking. Even more shocking was the fact it hadn’t gone away, instead intensifying to the point of total distraction. A gut clench. Involuntary contractions farther down. The heat. Losing my train of thought in the middle of speaking. Getting lost in those eyes. And in meetings, no less. What the bloody hell is wrong with me?

“A t-shirt? Is that all I need?” I scoffed. “Your work is done. I’ve t-shirts already.”

But the physical attraction wasn’t the worst of it. It was the intellectual attraction, the way we explored and debated everything under the sun. Our discussions were fearless. I’d unabashedly said things to her I’d never say to anyone else. One just didn’t. At least I could indulge in that without needing a dousing in cold water. Mostly.

“Does one of your t-shirts say ‘Fuck the Patriarchy’?”

“Adrienne!” I scolded. “Certainly not!”

“Unsurprising. This one will. In a dark grey, or perhaps a red close to the shade of your lipstick, I think. A lovely colour on you, by the way. Would you prefer a medium? A bit looser,” she continued, her eyes wandering over me once again before meeting mine. “If you were to sleep in it, then looser may be better.”

I felt the blush start. It was our delicious little game, our interactions so very rich. The double entendres. A glint in the eye. The slight shrug of a shoulder. Leaning in a fraction. A quirk of the lips. A note in a voice. The intensity of a gaze.

Right now, her gaze was very intense and I knew I was her sole focus in the world. What an incredible feeling it was.

“I’ve no need of a t-shirt to sleep in,” I said, my eyes challenging her.

A quirk of her lips and she swallowed what she was going to say next, but her eyes responded to the challenge, the gold turning molten. Adrienne’s never pushed it farther. Neither have I. Not yet.

Ours was a seductive dance where we never touched, never took that next step to close the separation between us. It was exhilarating. Incredibly stimulating. I always left her wanting more. More of the feelings. More of the interaction. More of it all, really.

“I see. Small it is, then.”

Would she take that next step? She’d never said anything to me. But then she wouldn’t. She’s honourable. Decent. Respectful. I was married. Even if I’d wanted to cheat on Paul, I don’t think she would have.

I returned her smile when a thought popped into my head. “Ah, before I forget. Another complaint’s been lodged against us around the animal facilities. Inspectors are coming in a few weeks and I’ll need to be in Folkestone for it. I think we’ve at least one thing already scheduled for that week we’ll need to reschedule. I’ll send you the dates when it’s confirmed.”

“Unfortunate. Is this another harassment technique used by the animal rights groups?”

“It is,” I nodded, shifting in my seat and reaching for my water. “Though it’s been quite some time since someone’s levelled accusations of mistreatment directly at the animal facilities. Usually it’s aimed at the odd scientist or two, an attempt at intimidation. An inspector appeared yesterday afternoon, right after we spoke, as a matter of fact. He’d a quick look around. Found nothing, of course, but according to the regulations, they must conduct a full inspection. It’ll take three or four days.”

“What do the animal rights groups hope to gain?” Adrienne asked curiously. “Seems a bit far-fetched there’d be actual abuse that wouldn’t have been picked up on, given how regulated you’ve told me it all is.”

“Harassment and free press, plain and simple. It costs them nothing. It’ll cost us money, inconvenience our employees, disrupt our operations a bit. And it costs the government. Those inspectors could be doing something about actual abuse instead of being used to further the animal rights groups’ agenda.”

“Is there nothing Landers or the government can do about the false complaints?”

I shook my head. “The complaint’s always submitted anonymously so I imagine it’d be quite difficult to track down and prove to a certainty. It’s no matter, though. Whoever’s done it will leak it to the press in a few days and we’ll know which group it is. Then we’ll need to deny it publicly because we can’t let those accusations go unanswered. One or two rounds in the press if we’re lucky then it’s all over.”

“I….” Adrienne stopped as the waitress brought our food. She nodded and said a thank you as a plate was placed in front of her. “I imagine I’ll be seeing you on the news again in the next week then.”

“Likely so. Thank you,” I said to the waitress as she placed my plate on the table. “This looks lovely.”

“So tell me your conclusions as to why being labelled a feminist bothers you so much.”

“Mmmm.” I took a bite and chewed, thinking. “This is very good. I’m not sure I’ve come to any firm conclusions. I didn’t like your question around whether I’d internalised sexism.”

“Didn’t like?” she chuckled. “You gave me the official ‘Dr. Jillian Marsden withering glare of death’. Had I been a piece of wood, I’d’ve burst into flames.”

“Ah, yes, I did.” She was right. I’d been very angry. It wasn’t the first time she’d been the recipient of that particular look of mine and somehow, I didn’t think it would be the last. Adrienne could push my buttons faster and harder than anyone I’d met, but she always did it privately, never when we were in public together. “And, as per usual, it was ineffectual.”

“I’m sure lesser mortals have turned into a pile of ashes at your feet.”

“Yes, they have,” I acknowledged. “You’re very sure of yourself today.”

“I think you mean ‘full of yourself’. Sorry, I’m a bit punch drunk. I’d a last-minute trip this weekend. Business. My return flight didn’t get in until 4:30 this morning,” she said then put her fork and knife down, her eyes capturing mine. “My intention wasn’t to anger you when I asked you about sexism. It never is when I ask you questions. You do know that, don’t you? We push each other, don’t we? I mean, it’s one of the things about this…friendship that works, isn’t it?”

Another of those fleeting moments when I knew as well as I knew my own name that she loved me. That telling myself I didn’t really know…couldn’t be sure, was yet another attempt at self-delusion. The walls would go down and I could see it in the way she looked at me. Her eyes didn’t lie. It took every ounce of strength I had not to reach for her hand…to not try to stop the walls from returning.

“You’re exactly right.”

“Good,” she nodded and the walls were back.

We ate quietly for a few minutes as I thought. “Were you able to get any sleep?”

“No, I’ll just make it an early night.”

“Was it a successful trip?”

“Got done what I needed to get done,” Adrienne said, using her fork to play with her food a bit.

“Ah.” We were hitting those boundaries in our…whatever this is. She’d been on one of those trips she wouldn’t talk in detail about. Sometimes she called me. Sometimes she didn’t. “Good. I’m glad it was successful.”

“You haven’t finished telling me your thoughts around why being labelled a feminist bothers you so much,” she prodded.

Damn it, I want those walls down. I didn’t know if I’d make it until the divorce papers were put in. I’d a nightmare Sunday night she’d grown tired of our game. Of waiting. I woke up sobbing and shaking. I hadn’t cried in years.

Eighteen bloody days.