Does the imagination dwell the most
Upon a woman won or a woman lost?
W.B. Yeats, “The Tower”
JAMILA
“Oh, Jamila, it’s beautiful!” exclaimed Jill, her excitement efforting all over the place. “Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure, sweetie. It looks fabulous on you!” In the red-gold and cream-colored velvet of the belly dance costume, her own earthy colors sprang to life. There was a bra top, a short, embroidered bolero vest, and a long, flowy skirt slit all the way up to the low-slung belt on both sides, directing plenty of attention to her long, toned legs.
“Steve is going to absolutely love this!,” she gushed, turning in front of the mirror.
“Does he have you dance for him often?” I asked, failing to keep the laughter out of my voice.
“Strangely, no. It’s obvious he loves it when I do; he lights up like a Christmas tree every time. I dunno; maybe it’s something he’d rather be offered than ask for.”
“Honey, once he sees you in this, he’ll wear you out. There’s little in the world he loves better than belly dance,” I replied. She suddenly caught me in a tight hug, thanking me several more times for the outfit I had built out of one of my own I rarely used. I actually felt a pang of envy–for her youth, her unimpaired capacity for joy and excitement–and yes, even for her *effervescence.*
* * *
“So how are you feeling?”, I asked when, comfortablely dressed in a warm, soft sweatshirt and the rust-colored legs that had so distracted her then-future dom from his duties as jury foreman, she sat crossed-legged on her black-painted chair, across a small black-painted table from my black-painted chair. (In fact, every paintable surface inside and outside this Goth-er-than-thou caffeinery was painted Shelley’s-cloak black. The very premises themselves seemed to take offense at the brilliant morning sunshine streaming in through the east window that ran the whole length of the wall, as if sunshine were an affront to its meticulously cultivated nihilism.
With a bemused smile, she said, “it’s funny; it feels strange to have clothes on. Almost as if, before this weekend, I would have gone out naked.”
“The world is one big training facility in self-consciousness for you, isn’t it?
“It really feels that way sometimes!” she answered with a grin.
“Anything else?”
“Well, if my ass could talk, it would be yelping every time I sat down.”
“Was it worth it? Did you get your needs met?”
“Oh, my God, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” After a moment, she continued. “I began fantasizing about you the night we met, you know.”
“Is that so?”, I asked. “During your first date with Steve?”
“Yes,” she said, uncharacterically boldly and without a trace of a blush, “and I have some questions.”
“Yes?”
“Well, first, when I asked Steve what you mean by referring to me as his ‘lady friend,’ he showed me the text he sent you while I was getting dressed. He said he was bringing someone ‘potentially special’, and asked you to be his wing man.”
I laughed at that. “Steve and I have known each other for a very long time, and that wasn’t the first time we had done that for each other.” There was a brief silence as she processed that.
“Okay; I can actually absolutely see that,” she said. “In your response to him, you told him he owed you. And he finished with, ‘Yours to command,’ which sounded at the time like simple mock-gallantry. But now I’m not so sure.”
I was becoming a little uneasy by this time, so I tried to play it off.
“Jill, you know how stuffed to the gills Steve is with poetic conceits.” It didn’t work; she became even less tenative, and more energetic — a bloodhound that has picked up the scent.
“Of course,” she replied. “As I said, that’s what I put it down to, also. But every time we’ve seen you dance, and I’ve watched the two of you interact, it has become more and more obvious to me that you were once a couple. Don’t deny it–I finally got him to admit to it a while ago. So imagine my feelings when I heard your voice on Friday night. I thought, my God, he is feeding me to his ex! What a twisted… Why are you laughing?”
“I’m sorry; I promise I’m not making fun of you or minimizing your feelings. It’s just that that’s exactly what he was doing, though I would never have thought of putting it that way, and it struck me as really funny, that’s all.”
“How would you have put it?” Jill asked.
“Oh, I don’t know; sub-letting?”
“Didn’t that come later?”, she asked, still unblushing.
“I suppose it did.”
Jill paused again, gathering her thoughts.
“Well, you don’t need to worry about my feelings, Because I realized immediately that that was exactly the sort of mind game Steve would come up with. That, and your cool flirt-torture flipped a switch in my brain.
“But then, in your apartment — and I swear I wasn’t spying on you, it just caught myeye — I saw the name on your driver’s license.”
“Damn it; I was afraid of that,” I groaned. But she was relentless.
‘Who is Laura Weaver?” I lowered my head and witnessed.
“I’ve been trying to escape Laura Weaver — leave her behind. No one out here but Steve–and now you–knows my real name. And I’d really like to keep it that way.”
“Well, If that’s what you want, I won’t give you away. But here’s my problem: you are his Great Love. He says your name in his sleep! I’m sure he’d still do anything for you — including lending me to you when you came to collect on your ‘favor.’ Isn’t that what happened? That’s why I’m here, right? Because Steve’s ex wanted me, and he could deny her nothing. Isn’t that it?” Despite her professing to have had an incredible weekend, I could see Jill was slowly building up a froth of rightious anger. I answered calmly and evenly.
“Jill, do you think Steve would have asked you to go with me, if he hadn’t already known how much youwanted to?” Her froth subsided immediately.
“No, of course he wouldn’t,” she admitted. “But think of what a disadvantage I’ve been at, not knowing who you were. I feel jealous of you–of Laura–every day! I wish every day that I know what to do to get Laura out of his head. How did he dominate her, and how did she submit to him, and should I be doing anything differently? How can I compete with the ex-girlfriend who is right there in the room with me, and I don’t know it?”
“Wait, what? Submit?” I couldn’t help it; I laughed out loud. “Sweetie, I’m not Steve’s ex-sub–I’m his ex-domme!”
STEVE’S JOURNAL: Multiple System Atrophy. Formerly Shy-Drager Syndrome. A movement disorder whose symbols can include gait Disturbance, speech difficulties, loss of fine motor coordination, and uncontrolled eye movements; neurogenic orthostatic hypotension, digestive or faithness upon standing due to a sudden drop in blood pressure; bladder and bowel incontinence, constipation, excessve sweating or not sweating at all, sleep disorder, and sexual impotence in men. Anxiety, depression, panic attacks, and suicidal idea possible. Inappropriate laughter or crying in some patients.
Up to 75% of patients may experience cognitive impairment, particularly in executive function. Average life expectancy is 7 to 10 years after the appearance of symptoms.
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