“Oh... This Saturday? No, none yet”.

     “Then why don’t we go out for a drink? We have to celebrate your first working week”.

     Liz smiled.

     “I would like to”.

     They went to a cosy bar in a city centre with a really good choice of drinks. Taking first sips of wine, Vicky asked Liz how she felt about her new work.

     “It’s OK so far. A bit stressful, but I’ve just started. I’ll get used to it”.

     “Of course you will. You’ve got potential”.

     “You think so?”

     “Yes. I can see it. And it’s even good you started at busy time. You couldn’t wish for a better training. If you get a taste of the worst now, all the rest will be easy for you. So, that’s a bright side”.

     “I suppose so”. Liz paused. “I’m really impressed with your work, Vicky”.

     “Oh, are you really?” Vicky smiled, and her face lit up. “Thanks”.

     “Really. You seem to be so efficient. And I really appreciate your ability to get things done so calmly. It was invaluable for me on my first day. You put me at ease, and it helped tremendously”.

     Vicky laughed.

     “Oh, stop using all these big words!”

     “It’s not a flattery. It’s true, Vicky”.

     “Well, in this case I’m glad. At the end of the day, it only helps to clear the air in the office and makes the employees more efficient. Would it make you work better if I put pressure on you?”

     “Of course it wouldn’t! Just the opposite!”

     “So, you see. If my manner encourages employees to work at their full capacity, that’s what I aim for”. She smiled. “Ever professional... Boring, eh?”

     “Oh no, Vicky, not at all!”

     When they finished the bottle of wine, Vicky asked:
     “Now, what would you like to do? I would rather stay here and get another bottle of wine. You know...” She smiled rather apologetically. “I enjoy talking to you, and if we went somewhere dancing, we wouldn’t be able to talk. We can go dancing another time”. She looked in Liz’s eyes pleadingly. “Is it OK with you?”

     Liz nodded. “Sure”.

     She enjoyed the conversation as well. Vicky seemed to be genuinely interested in what Liz had to say. She asked Liz about her hobbies and interests. When Liz told she liked painting, Vicky seemed really thrilled.

     “Oh, you’re an artist?”

     “I wouldn’t call myself an artist”. Liz was rather embarrassed. “I just paint for myself. And I read quite a lot of books on art history”.

     “Interesting. Will you show me your paintings?”

     “If you really want... to see... I’ve never shown them to anyone before”.

     “I would really like to see them. That is, if you don’t mind”.

      “No. I... I actually want you to have a look”.

     By the time the second bottle of wine was half empty, the girls were laughing and chatting happily as if they knew each other for their entire lives. Having announced that they were “two of the most gorgeous women in the Universe”, Vicky moved closer to Liz and whispered:

     “Do you have a... boyfriend, Liz?”

     She stumbled after the word “boyfriend”.

     “No. Single at the moment”.

     A slight smile touched Vicky’s lips.

     “So am I. Isn’t it a coincidence?”

     “Well”, Liz laughed. “The most gorgeous women in the Universe should have the most gorgeous men in the Universe. That’s it, and nothing less”.

     “Nothing less...” whispered Vicky quietly.

     That evening gave Liz a really new warm feeling. She didn’t remember whether she felt anything like that before. It was a feeling of finding not only a friend, but... If the word “soulmate” wasn’t so overused and didn’t feel so trivial, Liz would say that Vicky felt like her soulmate. She seemed to take such a genuine interest in everything Liz had to say – whether she expressed her feeling or opinions, or told about her interests. And Vicky seemed to share many of those.

     At the end of the second working week, Liz realised that every day she couldn’t wait to come to work again. She grew to love her work, love all its messiness and how busy it was. She didn’t see herself and her colleagues as soulless machines any more, - just the opposite, she saw their team as a living being and could feel its heartbeat. And it was Vicky who seemed have breathed life into it.

     Next Saturday, Vicky suggested going out again.

     “Wine again?” Vicky smiled, when they sat down into comfortable soft chairs in a bar. “Or will you have anything stronger, Liz?”

     “I’ll stick to wine, thank you”.

     “We should go for a meal one day”, said Vicky. “What about next week? And we shouldn’t wait until Friday or Saturday. We can go straight after work. What do you think?”

     “We could”, Liz nodded.

     “I know a really good restaurant close to our office. Let’s go there on Tuesday or Wednesday. Should give us a little midweek treat, or how else are we supposed to survive until the end of a week?” Vicky laughed. “Actually, it will be my little treat to you. You’ll be my guest”.

     “Thanks Vicky, but really...”

     “What “really”, Liz? You’ve just started your job, you haven’t even received your first cheque. No, don’t even attempt to argue. I invite you for a meal, and that will be it”.

     It was really like Vicky. So thoughtful, so generous.

     “When will you show me your paintings, Liz?” Vicky asked suddenly. “If you want to show them at all, that is”.

     “Of course I do. You can come round some time next week”.

     “OK, we’ll arrange that later. You know, Liz, one can tell you’re an artistic person”.

     “Really? How?”

     “The make-up you wear... It’s always so tasteful. These colours really suit you. Your face is so... tender. These light, pastel colours are the best for you”.

     “Thank you...” Liz blushed.

     “And I like the way you dress, too. You’ve really got a taste, Liz”.

     These were not the only compliments Liz heard from Vicky. No, Vicky also gave Liz very good feedback on her work. She wasn’t positively biased either, and mentioned things that needed improvement, but she managed to do it in a most appropriate way – just outlining the direction for future development.

     Vicky kept her word about the dinner. The restaurant indeed had a very pleasant atmosphere, and the cuisine was very good. The more Liz chatted with Vicky, the stronger became the feeling that she found – well, if not a soulmate, then a longed-for close friend. Liz couldn’t even remember anyone else she ever felt so at ease with. She couldn’t remember anyone else who admired her that much, and yet it wasn’t a flattery. Liz could feel that Vicky’s admiration was sincere.

     When Liz invited Vicky to her place to see her paintings, Vicky was really impressed.

     “You should exhibit, Liz. You’re an artist”.

     “Oh Vicky, come on...”

     “No, Liz, I’m serious. Don’t think it’s just a compliment. I know something about art. I also know a person who would be able to help you to organise an exhibition. You have talent, I can tell. You could make a name as an artist”.

     Liz tried to stop Vicky, but she practically made Liz promise she would seriously think of it. And since then, this idea was on the back of Liz’s mind all the time. Exhibition? Why not?...

***

     Liz stopped for a minute, caught her breath and looked at the priest.

     “You see, Father?”

     The priest nodded.

     “I see, child. I see you found a very special friend”.

     Liz closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.

     “Yes... A very special friend. And even more. Even more than that. You see, Father... Slowly, she became like the other half of me. But also a better half. We talked a lot. She made me see so many things in a different light. She...” Liz buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God! How can I make you feel it? Life seemed so complete with her. I was so... happy!”

     The priest said thoughtfully:

     “Yes, I understand”.

     There was something in his voice that made Liz think he really understood.

     “And then...” Liz said slowly. “Then... It all seemed to have changed... Slowly... But it changed... She changed...”

     “She did?”

     “Yes... It was when I... When Robbie came into my life... Now I see... It was the time when she started to change...”

***

     That morning, Liz came to the office in a state of happy excitement.

      “Guess whaaaaat!” she whispered playfully into Vicky’s ear. “I have something to tell you!” But not now. Later. Wait until lunchtime. Work comes first!”

     Vicky’s eyes lit up with interest and excitement.

     “Oh Liz, come on - come on - come on! Don’t turn so strictly professional! Tell me – tell me – tell me now!”

     “Well, only in brief. I met someone! I mean, I knew this guy ages ago. He was my high school crush. And yesterday I met him just by chance, we chatted, and he asked me out on Friday night. His name is Robert. Everyone at school called him Robbie”.

     “So...” Vicky said slowly. “You’re going out on Friday night?”

     “Yeeeah! Oh Vicky... I’m so excited! Too excited to work!”

     Liz was probably just a little too excited to notice the light in Vicky’s eyes grow feeble.

     At lunchtime, Vicky was the one to resume the conversation about Liz’s meeting with Robbie.

     “You said you liked him in high school?”

     “Liked him? It’s a mild way to put it! I was head over heels in love!”

     “And he?”

     “Didn’t seem to notice me. He was a year older. But when I saw him yesterday, he recognised me”.

     “But what do you know about him? It’s been long time since high school. What did he tell you?”

     “Eh... Nothing that much. At some point, he asked me whether I was married and had any kids. I said no. Then he said: “Same here”. Then he asked me where I worked and all, and ended up asking me out”.

     “Did he ask you whether you had a boyfriend? You can be unmarried and with no kids, but still have a boyfriend, you know”.

     “Eh... No, he didn’t”.

     “And likewise with him, Liz. He can be unmarried, but still have a girlfriend”.

     “If he had one, he wouldn’t have asked me out”.

     “Oh darling!” Vicky gave a little laugh, and Liz was surprised how abrupt it sounded. “In what world are you living? Of course he could! Not necessarily, but it’s possible! What do you know about him? Nothing!”

     “Vicky, you...” Liz stumbled. “I’ve known you for a couple of months now, and it’s the first time you’re talking to me like this”.

     “Sorry, Liz. It’s just... I don’t want you to get all hopeful. When illusions break, it may hurt.

     “I have no illusions, Vicky. I’ll just go out and see how it goes”.

     “Well...” Vicky sighed. “That’s better”.

     It wasn’t long before Liz found out that Robbie didn’t have a girlfriend. And, honestly speaking, it wasn’t too long before he invited her to his place. And it was even sooner that Liz realised she was as much head over heels in love with Robbie as she used to be in high school. Even more. In high school, he was just a boy of her dreams pretty as much as of many other girls’ dreams. She didn’t know that much about him. Now, she was eager to discover Robbie as a person, and he was equally enthusiastic to find out everything about her. Liz realised that she changed during the last couple of months, - she learned to communicate with people more easily and to be a more attentive listener, and she also realised she learned it from Vicky. But life seemed not to be generous enough to treat her with a wonderful friend and a wonderful love at the same time…

     Liz wasn’t too blinded by her love to notice changes in Vicky’s behaviour. Vicky wasn’t too enthusiastic a listener any more, when Liz started blabbing happily about Robbie. Vicky simply said nothing when one morning Liz turned up at nine o’clock sharp, but she looked slightly pale and not so well rested, although she silently beamed with happiness. There were no usual giggles, excited hugs and frivolous questions: “And soooo, how waaas it?” Sometimes Vicky seemed to turn strictly professional and gave Liz more work, so she was too busy for any conversation. They had their lunch breaks at different times now – solely because of the office being busy, of course; so, some days passed with them barely saying a word to each other. And sometimes Vicky, as if feeling a little guilty, turned extra sweet and tender with Liz. During those sweetness attacks, she hugged Liz in the mornings, asked her how she was, asked her about her parents and some family affairs Liz familiarised her with. But as soon as Liz was careless enough to drop Robbie’s name, Vicky seemed to freeze.

     Liz couldn’t get it. If Vicky ever met Robbie before, Liz would be very suspicious about her behaviour. But that was the thing: Vicky had never met him. And she didn’t want to. She seemed not to stand the very sound of his name. After Liz announced she and Robbie were an item, Vicky didn’t ask one question about him.

     On one of her “sweet days”, Vicky asked:

     “Liz, what about your exhibition? Have you thought about it?”

     “Eh… Exhibition?”

     Lately, Liz was too busy with all the things that included Robbie, to think about her exhibition.

     Liz nodded in bewilderment. It was very recently that Vicky developed a habit of calling Liz “honey”. It seemed to be a part of her “sweet” demeanour.

     Liz ended up agreeing to make an appointment with that very person who was interested. She went with Vicky and brought some of her paintings along.

     A “person who was interested” turned out to be quite a shabby looking young man with a kind of voice that Liz normally could barely stand – almost a falsetto. Liz has never been into this Bohemian hippie look; despite of being an amateur artist, she still believed in washing her hair and wearing clean clothes, and she didn’t see the connection between doing otherwise and being artistic.

     However, when it came to discussion of the exhibition, the young man, whose name apparently was Peter Morton, sounded very knowledgeable and competent. He approved of the paintings, and they ended up discussing the process of organising Liz’s first exhibition. The meeting made Liz feel much more confident. She really believed in the idea of exhibition now – and not only she believed that it was possible, but also that it could be a success.

     When they left Peter, Liz was silent for a few minutes. She felt a wave of a tremendous tenderness and gratitude to Vicky. How thoughtful it was of her. Vicky seemed to know what Liz needed, and sometimes she indeed seemed to know it better than Liz herself. Vicky somehow acted almost maternal – as if persuading a stubborn child to do what was necessary, and the child just wouldn’t see it.

     “Could we pop in for a drink?” Liz asked timidly. She couldn’t bear a tension between them any longer. Liz felt she would explode if they didn’t have a sincere conversation that would hopefully put an end to that odd misunderstanding that tore them apart. If only she knew what caused it. Well, now she intended not to shy away from finding out the truth.

     They went to their bar, where they already became regulars. Only this time Vicky seemed reluctant to make big confessions.

     “I don’t like what’s going on between us”, started Liz promptly after they bought their drinks.

     Vicky smiled bitterly.

     “I don’t like it either”.

     “But why, Vicky? I mean, why did things turn round this way? What went wrong?”

     Vicky was silent.

     “Is it Robbie?” asked Liz quietly. “Actually, I know it’s Robbie. But you haven’t even met him. What do you have against Robbie, Vicky?”

     That was it. The question was voiced out. Now, Liz could look Vicky straight in the eye.

     She did – and was startled by sadness in Vicky’s eyes.

     “Not here, Liz”, Vicky sighed. “Not here and now”.

     Liz looked bewildered, but Vicky suddenly smiled.

     “Come to my place – you haven’t been there for ages. We’ll have some wine, and we’ll talk. Tomorrow’s Friday; come tomorrow night”. Her smile slightly faded. “That is, if you’re not… busy”.

     “I’m not”, Liz said quickly. “I’ll come tomorrow”.

     Vicky’s flat was very cosy and tastefully furnished. Every piece of furniture and every little ornament seemed to have its own special place. Liz has always had an overwhelming feeling when she was at Vicky’s. It was a feeling of being welcomed, being valued, being needed.

     That memorable Friday night wasn’t different. When Liz turned up, Vicky asked her to sit down in the living room, where two lit candles were set out on the little table beside the couch. An open box of chocolates and two empty glasses were there as well. Vicky went to the kitchen and soon emerged with a bottle of red wine.

     “I love candles”, she said with a smile. “They create special atmosphere… Romantic. Mysterious. You know, sometimes, when the lights are off and candles are lit, you can see more… More than you ever could see in a bright light. Do you mind me turning the lights off?”

     “N-no”, Liz mumbled rather doubtfully. She had a very vague feeling of uneasiness.

     Vicky turned the lights off. She slipped a CD in her player, and a beautiful tune slowly filled the room. Liz didn’t know this music, but it was relaxing, soothing, fascinating.

     Vicky poured red wine in their glasses.

     “To us”, she said quietly. “To the most gorgeous girls in the Universe. Remember?”

     Liz nodded.

     “Yeah, I remember”.

     Vicky looked especially beautiful that evening. Was it due to an excited spark in her blue eyes? The dress she wore gave her figure full credit, and Liz caught herself thinking Vicky illustrated a comparison of a woman’s body to an hour-glass. Liz’s artistic mind grasped for the image. Hour-glass… Perfect female curves… She should paint something like that.

     “More wine, Liz?” Vicky’s voice reached Liz’s hearing through a thick mist of her daydreaming. “You seem withdrawn. Where are you?”

     “I’m here”, Liz smiled. “Just listening to your music”.

     They drank more wine. Liz felt she didn’t want to move to the awkward subject they had to discuss, which was actually a purpose of her visit. Yes… They had to talk about it, sooner or later. Maybe even tonight. But not just now. Later. When it will be not so difficult. When they have some more wine…

     Vicky wasn’t in a hurry to start that conversation either. She was just blabbing happily – mostly about everything to do with Liz. A fair bit of Vicky’s talk was about Liz’s exhibition, and how happy Vicky was it would finally take place, and how excited Vicky was about it, and they should promote it properly, but Liz didn’t really need to worry, because Peter knew everything about promotion, and how wonderful it would be if Liz sold her paintings… Liz didn’t talk much. She just admired the sound of Vicky’s voice. It was such a delight to listen to it…

     Having finished a bottle of wine, they started another. Some chocolates from Vicky’s box were with rum, and the girls laughed at this odd mixture of alcohol with alcohol. Liz couldn’t even remember the last time she felt so relaxed. Vicky seemed to be back to her old self. However, every time she started sipping another glass of wine, Liz had that nagging feeling coming back, reminding her she was in denial, she was just trying to run away from the problem.

     Liz put her glass down on the table. She had to start this talk.

     “Why, Vicky?” she asked.

     Vicky looked at her, pretending to be bewildered. Pretending to be?

     “Why what, Liz?”

     “You know what. Why can’t things be this way all the time?” Liz’s voice faltered, but now she felt an enormous urge to talk about this burning issue, to get answers to her questions. Those questions tortured her. She couldn’t wait any longer.

     Vicky was silent for a moment, then she spoke.

     “They can”.

     “Can they?” Liz was genuinely glad. “How?”

     Vicky rose and turned the volume of her CD player a bit up.

     “It’s my favourite song”, she said dreamily. Her eyes were half closed, a blissful smile quivered on her lips. She was incredibly beautiful at this moment.

     Liz couldn’t take her eyes off Vicky.

     Vicky started moving to the slow, languish tune. Her movements were free and graceful, the shine in her eyes was ecstatic. Liz stared at her, fascinated.

     As if having just become aware of Liz’s admiring stare, Vicky moved close to her and stretched her hand out.

     “Dance with me…” she whispered with aspiration.

     Since that moment, Liz couldn’t quite clearly remember what exactly happened. She could remember her body moving to the tune. She could remember the feeling of inexplicable bliss. But she couldn’t recall the very moment when Vicky’s arms wound around her and she felt the softness of Vicky’s lips on her lips…

     “I… love… you…”

     Did this hardly audible whisper really come from Vicky? Or did Liz just imagine it? She couldn’t tell. The mist that shrouded her became thicker. First tender and timid, the kisses of Vicky’s soft, moist lips became passionate and demanding; her hands, investigating Liz’s body, became more commanding, and when her tongue touched Liz’s, it awakened all the secret strings of her body… Liz felt a hot wave of desire drowning her, causing agonising tingle down her stomach, making her knees grow weak…

     Suddenly, Robbie’s face emerged from the depth of her subconscious, and his expression was bewildered, angry, judging. Liz saw it so clearly as if Robbie somehow appeared in front of her. And the spell seemed to have broken. She pushed Vicky away with such a fierce power that Vicky banged herself against the wall, and rushed outside.

     Having heard Vicky running after her, calling her name, Liz run to her car almost in panic. She blessed her decision to drive to Vicky’s instead of letting her pick her up somewhere. Her hands were shaking when she tried to start the engine. When Liz finally got the car to move, she saw Vicky in her rear-view mirror. Vicky jumped into her own car. Liz realised Vicky’s intentions were to chase her, and she felt a new wave of panic, multiplied by the grotesque unreality of all the events of that evening. With a burning desire to get to a blessed shelter of her home, Liz hit a gas pedal…

     In the next few minutes, some frightful pictures replaced one another in front of her, like in some sort of a horror kaleidoscope: bright headlights of the approaching car, her desperate effort to turn the wheel left, her trying to brake, a strong knock, and then – darkness…

***

     Liz’s eyes were closed.

     For a moment, there was silence. Then the priest spoke quietly.

     “You were lucky”.

     “Yeah”, Liz said slowly. “No major injuries. Just a few cuts and a broken rib. And an injured hip. I can’t walk yet, but I’ll be all right. Yeah, I was the lucky one”. She paused. “Vicky wasn’t”.

     It took the priest a few seconds to speak again.

     “She…”

     “Accident”, Liz said promptly. “The car skidded off the road for some reason, and hit a tree. It exploded immediately. Nobody else got hurt”.

     For a minute, both of them were silent. Then, the priest said:

     “May her soul rest in peace.”

     “That all, Father”, Liz said. “I’ve told you everything. You see… It wasn’t just a confession. I wanted you to know. I wanted another person to know, apart from him”.

     The priest slightly raised his eyebrows.

     “Him?”

     “Apart from Peter. Peter Morton. The guy who was supposed to be organising my exhibition. I think he knows. I think he guesses”.

     The priest was silent.

     “He visited me a few days after the accident, when I felt better”, Liz said quietly. “He said he would handle everything to do with a funeral. And he told me he knew how…special I was to Vicky. He knew how Vicky felt about me. She confided in him. He was her best friend. He is gay, too”.

     The priest nodded. Liz swallowed convulsively.

     “He visited me again some days ago”, she went on. “He said it was all over. The funeral, I mean. He said Vicky was buried. He also said – so casually, you know, - that there was nothing much left of her to bury”.

     Liz hid her face in her hands and burst into tears.

     “He did it deliberately. He wants me to suffer. As if I hadn’t suffered enough! He thinks it’s my fault!”

     The priest patted Liz’s shoulder.

     “There, child. It’s not your fault”.

     Liz was weeping, but a strange feeling of being purified and enlightened was slowly enveloping her. And the priest’s hand on her shoulder was so comforting.

     The priest started to speak, and his voice was like a balm on the wounds of her soul.

     “God forgives you, child, and I forgive you. Your sin was innocent. It was in living, in existing on this earth, in being yourself. It was in being an object of unrequited love”. He paused. “No one of us is quite safe from becoming the same one day”.

     Liz took a deep breath and wiped her tears.

     “Thank you, Father”.

     “Are you still with Robbie?” asked the priest.

     Liz nodded, still slightly trembling.

     “Yes. He visits often”.

     “I thought… It’s better for him not to know”.

     Liz nodded again. “Yes”.

     “And what about your exhibition?”

     Liz glanced at the priest, surprised.

     “Exhibition?”

     “Yes. You said this guy, Peter Morton, was supposed to be organising it. What’s happening now?”

     “I… I haven’t even thought to mention it to him”, Liz said, bewildered. “He didn’t mention it to me either”.

     “Well, I think you absolutely must have it organised – in Vicky’s memory. You mentioned a few times how insisting she was about it. I feel Peter won’t refuse. It definitely was something she wanted most. Like her last wish. Speak to Peter about it…and about Vicky as well. Clear up all misunderstandings”.

     Liz looked at the priest, and a smile of true relief touched her lips. The priest also noticed with satisfaction, that a torturing pain was gone from her eyes.

     “So I will”, Liz said. “Thank you, Father. Thanks for everything”.

***

     A few months later, a small crowd gathered in a spacious but cosy hall of one of the central art galleries. According to the numerous adverts, the event that took place there, was a debut exhibition of a young artist Elizabeth Coleman. It was quite successful, judging from a few paintings that got sold, and some orders made to the artist.

     One of the buyers, holding his carefully wrapped new purchase, was shaking Liz’s hand.

     “I’m very impressed, Miss Coleman. A familiar image, but yet such a colourful incarnation. Wonderful”.

     Liz smiled.

     “Thank you”.

     The buyer left, carrying the painting that was called “Hour-glass”, the painting that immortalized the curves of the woman, over whom the time already lost its power.