Title: Eyes Grow Feet
Author: CGB (c.giles@curtin.edu.au)
Web: http://appelsini.tripod.com/Christine/
Archive: Sure
Category: f/f slash
Rating: NC - 17
Disclaimer: Do de do de doo, de do de doooo
Acknowledgements: My thanks to the delightful Lil, and the
delicious Liz.
And much respect to Laura Ellen who owns the genre and
planted the seeds.
***
"I like to pretend..." - The Hummingbirds
"Eyes Grow Feet"
***
Her fingers are cold on a glass filled with orange liquid.
Her hands are
cold but her cheeks are warm. Glowing perhaps. She lifts
her fingers to her
cheek and smoothes them down her face. Condensation has
formed on the glass
and her fingers leave a wet trail from her cheekbone to her
neck.
There is nothing she can do when she feels like this. Her
head is swimming
and her limbs are buzzing with a heat radiating from a
point in her throat
that the alcohol has burned.
She straightens her neck and focuses her attention on CJ
who is sitting on
the other side of the table, laughing and leaning a
careless arm on the back
of Josh's chair.
CJ catches her eye and she wonders how long she has been
staring. She looks
away quickly.
What if they can tell, she thinks, what if they can see
right through her?
What if it's written all over her face?
She's obsessed with the Press Secretary. She's drunk and
she's barely able
to move and her thoughts keep returning to CJ Cregg who is
tall and gracious
and always able. So much more able than Ainsley Hayes who
has one foot in
the White House, one foot in the upper echelons of the
Republican Party,
and, on occasion, one foot in her mouth.
It's normal - she read that somewhere - quite normal to
fantasise about
other women and be a normal, heterosexual, god fearing,
Republican, only
she's pretty sure the "Republican" part is her
own addition. Perhaps it is
normal, but it's driving her crazy.
How did this happen? Was it CJ's hand grasping hers in her
new office as Sam
and Josh sang "He is an Englishman?" Was it those
long fingers pressed
against hers that sent a message to her brain along with a
shiver up her
spine?
And now the thought is wild, well and truly out of control.
She finds
herself fantasising about CJ when the night gets too long
and the air
conditioning in her office is too hot to concentrate. CJ's
image sits on her
desk and pushes her hair off her face.
"It's so hot," she says and she opens her blouse
until her bra is exposed
and she fans herself (she's seen this in a movie
somewhere). CJ opens the
buttons on her blouse and raises her skirt to her hips to
remove her
stockings revealing long legs and just a hint of the inside
of her thigh.
"Much better," she says.
And then, perhaps knowing Ainsley is enjoying the show, she
performs
something of a strip tease, a languid drawing out of the
removal of her
skirt and turning her back before removing her bra.
*
When she was fourteen she had a crush on her high school
social studies
teacher, Miss Little. She was fourteen, already entering a
world of make up,
fashion and boys, boys, boys. She has friends who already
have boyfriends,
who meet after school behind the bus shelter.
And there is Anna whose boyfriend brings a friend who sits
next to Ainsley
behind the bus shelter. Later he pins her to the ground and
tries to put his
hand inside her school uniform. She feels his hot breath on
her neck and he
smells musty - like her brother's room on a Sunday morning.
It isn't pretty. Not like the young couples in the movies
with neatly set
hair and flawless skin. Not like the pictures in
Cosmopolitan or Seventeen
of partners with jumpers knotted around their necks,
leaning into each other
in soft focus.
Not like it is in her imagination, only it is never her in
her imagination.
It is, rather, Miss little, who is tall, redheaded and
bespectacled. It is
Miss Little who is undressed by faceless men. It is Miss
Little who lies
back naked while hands roam her body, pausing over her
breast and abdomen.
*
Years later, the girls' dorm at her college passes around a
dog-eared copy
of Nancy Friday.
Her roommate peruses it. "Do you fantasise about other
women?" she asks.
"No," Ainsley says. "Why?"
"I do." An awkward silence descends. Ainsley is
lying on her bed with one
knee raised. She focuses on her long legs and remembers
Miss Little with
long legs and a tight, pencil skirt.
"Really?" she says.
"Yeah. I used to fantasise about my teachers and
sometimes friends of my
sister's. Always older women."
Ainsley swallows. She feels like she is transparent,
exposed for the liar
she is.
"But I'm not a lesbian," her roommate says, and
then she screws up her nose.
"At least, I don't think I am."
They are young Republicans and Ainsley's father is a former
Governor. There
are no gay people in their world. At least, not that
they're aware of.
*
"I'm drunk," she says to no one in particular.
"We know." Sam says. Sam invited her. He feels
sorry for her, she's sure of
it. She feels sorry for herself sometimes. All alone in the
basement - the
White House pariah.
"Me too," says Josh, and he leans his head on the
table.
"What is this?" Ainsley holds up her drink.
"A Mai Tai," says CJ. "I'd pass if I were
you."
Something about CJ's voice makes her drink it in defiance.
Better to be sick
than to be thought of as an alcoholic lightweight.
Later she thinks that such sentiment is best left to the
abstract. She is in
the bathroom holding her hair behind her neck and dry
retching into the
bowl. She reaches for the toilet paper and pats the sweat
on her forehead.
"Oh god... " she says out loud.
"Something you ate?"
She turns her head to see CJ standing behind her with a
glass of water. She
takes it.
"Thanks."
"I warned you."
"I know."
Ainsley stands, brushing her hair back from her face with
her free hand.
"I really...I really can't hold my liquor."
CJ steps out of the cubicle and into the light of the too
bright bathroom.
She leans a hand on the bench by the mirror, and fingers a
stray hair for a
moment.
"Ainsley, why do you think you have to prove you
can?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, you run around with this chip on your
shoulder so large, I'm
surprised you can get through doorways. You think we'll
somehow hold you in
low esteem if you can't match us drink for drink?"
"You think I'm a prude."
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean we don't like
you."
Ainsley looks at herself in the mirror. Next to CJ she is a
small and frail
girl. She lacks the presence awarded an older and taller
woman.
"I wish I were tall."
"Oh!" CJ rolls her eyes. "No you don't. You
wouldn't believe the trouble
I've had finding pants that fit - and shoes! And I can't
even begin to tell
you about the number of men who are intimidated by tall
women."
Ainsley looks at the ground.
"I think I'm going to be sick again..."
CJ takes her arm and steers her toward the exit.
"Come on, let's get you some fresh air."
*
Outside Ainsley leans against the rough brick and forms
mist with her
breath. CJ leans next to her, their arms brushing from time
to time. Ainsley
closes her eyes and thinks the night is beautiful.
Freezing, but beautiful.
CJ tells her about playing drinking games in the dorms at
Berkeley where she
first learnt to drink like a stalwart. Her voice is a warm
blanket,
shielding them from the wind and the cold. Ainsley listens
while making
futile attempts to banish thoughts of CJ playing strip
poker and teasingly
removing her bra. She really has to stop.
She shakes herself.
"Are you cold?" CJ says.
"No," she says quickly. Too quickly. CJ raises an
eyebrow.
CJ positions herself in front of her and begins vigorously
rubbing her arms.
Ainsley laughs nervously.
"What are you doing?"
CJ stops and leans her head to one side. "My mother
used to rub my arms when
I was cold."
She feels the wind against her still burning cheeks. It
clears her head and
stops the world from spinning. She closes her eyes and
thinks she could fall
asleep right here, against this wall, and the night would
be perfectly
ended.
And then she thinks about running. Running down the street
and throwing her
arms out to the world and screaming. She wants to burst.
She's drunk. Drunk and full of bravado and her heart is
pounding so hard in
her chest she's sure CJ can hear it too.
She opens her eyes. CJ is staring at her as if she is a
puzzle.
"You know, you really are pretty," CJ says.
"So are you." Her voice is a whisper.
The night hangs on the edge of a precipice, dangling
precariously over the
edge. And then it teeters and falls as CJ leans in to kiss
her. All sense
flies from her head as she kisses her back, madly.
CJ uses her hold on Ainsley's arms to push her into the
wall, their bodies
pressed against each other. Her hands slide under CJ's
jacket and tugs at
her blouse, which is tucked into her pants.
CJ's skin is a revelation, soft and smooth with perhaps the
finest hint of
hair. She can't stop touching it, running her fingers
across a rib, the dip
in her back, the slight rise of her belly. CJ breathes hard
and kisses
Ainsley's neck just below the ear.
CJ's breasts are covered by satiny material. Ainsley's hand
slides into the
cup and she brushes her fingers back and forth across the
nipple.
And then CJ's hand drops to Ainsley's thigh to lift her
skirt. There's a
moment where their eyes meet.
Her voice is pleading in her head; No words, not now. Not
now as CJ's hands
are inside her panties, inside her, rubbing against her
clitoris and
bringing her to the edge of orgasm. Not now as CJ is
moaning into her hair
as her fingers pinch her nipples. Not now as CJ's fingers
move inside her,
pushing her open as she comes.
And then they are still.
CJ says something that she doesn't hear. It doesn't seem to
matter. They
straighten their clothing without meeting each other's
eyes. Her thoughts
turn to their colleagues inside; should they cross check
excuses? Should
they enter separately? Her head spins and she realises
she's probably still
quite drunk. She should go home. She feels an overwhelming
need to be far
away.
"I'm um... I've got to..." CJ leans her head to
the side indicating the
door.
"Yeah."
"Are you...?"
"Yeah." She nods. She bites her lips and turns
her head to look down the
alleyway. There are bins. They made out next to bins.
She follows CJ back inside.
*
Ainsley turns the fan on. They fixed the air conditioning
in her office
weeks ago but today she's hot. She puts a hand to her
forehead. Perhaps she
has a temperature?
Last night's sleep was fraught with dreams about walking
through deserts,
and wandering through empty houses looking for water. When
she woke up her
mouth was dry and her throat hurt. She dispensed two
soluble aspirins into
water before breakfast, and then added a third as an
afterthought.
Her head swims all morning. In her mind she replays scenes
from the night
before and she can't tell whether she shivers from arousal
or embarrassment.
When she stands she feels dizzy. Earlier today she resolved
not to leave
office and now she thinks she might not be able to leave
her desk.
But it's all irrelevant when CJ Cregg appears in her
doorway.
"Can I come in?" She says.
"No!" Ainsley jumps in her chair. She shakes her
head. "I mean yes... of
course, you can come in."
CJ enters. She shifts her weight nervously from foot to
foot and looks at
the floor. Ainsley thinks she's never seem her like this
and the knowledge
that it could be her who unsettles CJ Cregg is somehow
delighting.
"So...they fixed the air conditioning?"
"Yeah."
"How long did it take?"
Ainsley shrugs. "Six months?"
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Ainsley?"
"Yes?"
"I wanted to apologise for last night. I was..."
"Drunk?"
"Yes, but um... not as drunk as you."
"No..."
"You know, Ainsley, I didn't know you were..."
Ainsley's eyes go round.
"I'm not."
CJ looks taken aback. "So this was the first
time?"
"Yes."
CJ nods. "Me too."
"Really?"
"Ummm.. with a Republican that is."
Ainsley lets her breath out.
"CJ, I think it's best, and I know you'll agree, that
we forget this
happened and focus our attention on our work. I wouldn't
want this to affect
our working relationship: I know you're under substantial
pressure right
now..."
CJ holds up a hand. "Ainsley..."
Ainsley stops. CJ's hand lifts to her head and she rubs her
forehead. "You
talk to much."
"Yes."
CJ shakes herself and then sighs. "These things,
Ainsley, they happen. I
wish they wouldn't, but if wishing could make it so...
Well, suffice to say,
I'm not about to spend too much time thinking about whether
it was the wrong
thing to do, so would it be OK with you if we just..."
She pauses and looks
away, briefly. There's a look in her eyes that Ainsley
can't read. "If we
just shook hands and moved on."
"You want to shake hands?"
"Yeah." CJ holds out her hand. Ainsley leans
across the desk and grasps it.
Later when she thinks of the exchange she remembers this,
and that they had
sweaty palms.
"Thank you." CJ turns to leave and then turns
back again. "Ainsley?"
She jumps. "Yes?"
"It was...nice." She nods and looks at the floor,
thoughtfully. "Well...
I'll see you at the thing."
She leaves and Ainsley contemplates the empty office in her
wake. After a
while she shifts in her seat and thinks about going for
lunch, only this is
one time when she doesn't feel hungry.
She slips her coat over her shoulders and picks up her bag.
Against the backdrop of events that are monumental, such
small occurrences
are inconsequential and perhaps forgettable. And who knows
what will remain
in two weeks let alone two months - two years?
She tells herself that as she walks through the West Wing,
as she walks past
CJ's office and Sam's and Toby's, as she walks through the
foyer of the
White House and out the security gates.
She tells herself that this is fantasy, never meant to be
real, and if
fantasy invades reality then normality must and will be
restored soon
enough.
*
The woman in the apartment next to hers fumbles with her
keys before they
fall to the floor. She bends over to pick them up and
Ainsley's eyes are
drawn to pale pink underwear peaking out from beneath bone
coloured satin.
The woman straightens and smiles at Ainsley before sliding
the key in the
lock and disappearing into her apartment.
She has long dark hair and Ainsley remembers the birthmark
just above her
collarbone for days later.
Fin