Disclaimers: See Part 1
Chapter Seven
Yalia rested against the headrest as Helen drove her and Anne to a nearby Days Inn. Helen was not ready just yet to bring Anne home, and the bedroom was not finished anyway. Anne could stay at the motel overnight or a few days if need be.
They checked in, getting two rooms. Once they were in Anne's room, Helen said: "I got you a phone. Prepaid." She drew the phone out of her purse. "I've put my number and Yalia's number in there. Do you know how to use the phone? To text?"
"No," Anne said, so Helen spent a few moments instructing Anne. Anne sent Helen a practice text. Anne laughed. More than once. Anne was like a different person when she laughed. Her stiffness and caution vanished, and Yalia could pick up on the girl Anne must have been.
Yalia watched her wife and Anne together, Anne, dark-haired like herself, and Helen, light and, for now, in charge. Helen and Anne looked good together. Yalia was more sure than ever that Helen was attracted to Anne. And Anne to Helen. Oh, Helen was doing a good job acting fairly casual. No touches, no long lingering looks. But Helen's smile, the light in her eyes, when Anne laughed--yep.
Yalia replayed the feel of Anne's body. Yalia was not sure why she had moved to gather Anne into her arms at the theater. But she had. Anne was small. Bony. But solid. Safe. She felt good. Different from Helen. Not good different or bad different, just different. Yalia felt like part of Anne had come back with her after the fades. That a miniature part of Anne remained inside her.
Bizarre, really.
"I gotta hit the potty. Too much Sprite," Helen said after another practice text and a practice call.
Once Helen was in the bathroom, Anne said: "You and your wife have not made love in some time."
Yalia's defenses bubbled to the surface, and she was sure her gaze was angry. "You could tell that when we were in your body?" What else do you know? Were you only trying to plumb our minds' recesses for information?
"Do you miss Helen?"
"Do--do I what?"
Anne's gaze was somber. "Do you miss Helen?"
"Don't know," Yalia mumbled. I miss me. ME. ME. I miss being able to feel. I miss wanting to fuck my wife silly. "Did you see it? The shooting?" Yalia had to ask.
"No. I saw nothing. I only made an informed conclusion from my observations when I said you and your wife had not made love in some time."
"Ah."
They stayed where they were, Anne on the bed, Yalia in a chair a few feet away. Yalia felt like they were two bulls circling each other, and the moment caused Yalia to play Thesaurus. Nervous. Edgy. Tense. Uneasy.
"I think we are alike, Lady Yamaoto," Anne said.
"We are?"
"Yes. But perhaps in different ways."
"Alike in different ways. Okay. Whatever that means."
"You liked being with me in 1536."
"I didn't like it," Yalia said cautiously. "But..."
"Yes," Anne replied. "But."
Anxious. Worried. Jumpy.
"We are not like Helen," Anne said.
"Not like Helen." Yalia let the phrase rattle in her mouth. The phrase certainly was not buttery and melty like the movie popcorn had been. The phrase was sharp. Flat. Soft, too. Oddly. Not like Helen. Not like Helen. At any rate, a better name for a band than Yalia Trying to Care .
"How are we not like Helen?" Yalia ventured.
A flush came from the bathroom. Water running.
Anne offered up an enigmatic smile. "We may talk more later."
"Sure. Okay." Yalia kept her reply nonchalant, but she felt a desperate need, an intense need, to continue their conversation. Now.
Something shifted in Anne's expression. "Lady Yamaoto, I ask you this not to be forward but in case my days are nearly complete. What is kissing a woman like? What is making love to a woman like?"
Yalia blinked. "Uh, well."
"Is it different from kissing a man?"
"For me, it is."
"Is it better?"
"Yes, much better. It is right."
"Hmm." Anne's expression was thoughtful. Her lips were thoughtful.
Yalia almost said: I will show you. She did not, though, and Helen came out of the bathroom. Yalia swallowed, and the image of her wife, her Helen, kissing faceless Devon , and then Anne, entered her mind. The desire that had reared between Yalia's legs during the fades ignited again, and Yalia was ashamed. Not deeply. Only slightly.
Helen with another woman. Helen with Anne. Helen tearing Anne's clothes off, Helen on top of Anne. Helen's tongue meeting Anne's tongue.
Threesomes were not alien to Yalia. She and Helen had engaged in two, the first about a year before their wedding, the second about two years after. For the first threesome, she, Helen, and the other woman, an acquaintance named Tiffany, had taken turns kissing and fucking. The second woman was named Gina, and Yalia had mostly been a watcher, not a participant. She had watched her wife and Gina. Helen bucking atop Gina. Helen's primitive scream as she reached orgasm. Yalia had been jealous. Very. She knew then she could not do another threesome, and she said no when Helen asked for another. However, Yalia had a feeling that stuff with Anne would be different. Yalia could tell Anne how to kiss Helen. How to touch Helen. How to love Helen, how to be a mother to their child, because right now, Yalia was incapable. And then when Yalia was ready, she could touch and love Helen and their child herself, too.
Stop. You're being absurd. You and Helen are finished. There will never be a child.
Yalia let her gaze fall to the expanse of Anne's neck. A neck severed hundreds of years ago. Anne Boleyn is dead. But Helen would enjoy kissing her neck.
And so would I, Yalia realized.
Perhaps one way she and Anne were alike: they had stared themselves in the mirror and not liked what they saw. Yalia had seen the face of a careless cop, a child killer, and she hated herself.
Helen sat with Anne on the bed. "Hey, want to practice calling Yalia?"
"Anne is wondering what kissing a woman is like," Yalia said. "Also what making love with a woman is like."
"Oh," Helen said slowly, and something indefinable appeared in her eyes. "I see."
"Perhaps you will kiss her. After all, you kissed another woman not too long ago."
Helen gave a weak laugh. She looked at Yalia. At Anne. Back to Yalia. "That's funny."
"All she wants is a kiss," Yalia whispered. "A little kiss. She does not ask for the Holy Grail."
Helen narrowed her eyes, as if to say: All I have wanted from you is a kiss too. I do not ask for the Holy Grail either. What came from her lips, however, was: "Fine. How about it, Your Majesty? A kiss?"
The dead queen appeared flustered. Unsure. "I did not mean one of you should kiss me. I only meant you to describe what kissing a woman is like. However, I admit hands-on experience has no substitute."
*****
Part of Helen wished she had stayed in the bathroom. Yalia wanted her, Helen, to kiss Anne. Wanted it more than anything. Helen could see it in Yalia's gaze. Yalia needed this. And if Helen was being honest, the prospect of kissing Anne was appealing. She had been drawn physically to Anne from the beginning. However, it was best to keep Anne Boleyn as a woman of mystery. Anne was no witch. She would likely turn out to be a perfectly ordinary, perhaps dull kisser. Helen hoped for that, because if Anne was good, if Anne was good...
This kiss was Yalia's way of trying to...trying to something. Whatever. To make amends. To get back on track with Helen, perhaps. But Yalia did not realize that Helen was attracted to Anne, did she? Or the extent of her attraction, anyway. Henry. How quickly, how completely, how crazily he fell head over heels in love with Anne. What if it happens with me? Be careful. This is how Anne did it. This is how she seduced Henry, how she played with him for seven-so years. Anne is playing with me and Yalia.
Helen dialed her thoughts down and met Anne's gaze. "I won't bite," Helen said.
"Very well," Anne murmured. "I thank you. You may proceed."
Helen brought her mouth to Anne's for a whisper of a kiss, a quick whisper. Like a dream. Helen deepened the kiss, tasting Anne's tongue, and Anne shivered. Her mouth was soft and tasted like movie popcorn butter.
Time to call it done.
But Helen kept her lips and her tongue where they were. Anne was different from Devon , and Helen wanted Anne to be more eager and responding. Anne was not. She drew back. Nothing more would happen. The kiss was over, and Helen hoped her face did not reflect her disappointment. At last, she understood how Henry felt. He had had the taste of Anne, she had perhaps played with him, and he could not let her go. In her own way, Anne certainly was a witch. She must be, because for the first time since the shooting, Yalia had a ghost of a smile on her lips. Yalia was turned on.
"You are correct, Lady Yamaoto," Anne said. "Much better than a man's kiss."
*****
Anne turned over in bed and watched the Days Inn clock. Its numbers were green-blue, not red. The green-blue numbers slid from 11:59 to midnight . Anne did not like being alone, although technically, perhaps she was not. Yalia and Helen were staying in the room that connected to Anne's. It did not matter. A connecting room would not stop Jordan from sneaking in and seizing her. Anne wished to be back at Icarus, where her world was known.
The fade delay bothered her, more than she had let on. Having two people with her, and twice, must have caused a lag in getting her back to modern times. That lag was only a few seconds, but it was a lag. It had brought her perilously closer to her execution. In a few minutes, her ladies would be summoned to blindfold her. Anne did not want to feel the smooth, warm cloth of the blindfold. She did not want her eyes covered. What if she had doomed herself with her rash decision to bring Helen and Yalia with her? What if their presences in the time stream meant she would lose control of her fades?
What if I become like Benjamin? Then I will die for sure. Anne felt tears well up, and she wiped them away. Every person dies.
She reallocated her thoughts to more pleasant matters: namely, the kiss. Helen's lips were soft and welcoming. Wonderful. Perfect. Her mouth and her skin bore no hint of a man's roughness or stubble. Anne had not enjoyed kissing Henry for several reasons, two being his lack of skill and the coarse hairs on his face. But kiss Henry she must, as part of her father's scheme to make her queen.
Anne had wanted to kiss Helen further, more thoroughly, but paralysis seized her. Paralysis because the kiss felt right. Because Helen felt right. Because Helen's wife was watching. And because Anne was an amateur in the art of a kiss. She did not want to humiliate herself. She was a queen after all, and should never put herself in situations that might result in reproach and mortification.
Anne wished Yalia had kissed her as well. Yalia had wanted to. Perhaps later Yalia shall.
Anne slipped her right hand between her legs. She was no longer at Icarus, but she still felt the eyes, the watchful, hungry, ravenous, technological camera devil eyes on her. No bother. She knew how to touch herself and remain still. She imagined Helen and Yalia kissing her, not only on the lips, but on her breasts and down there.
After her orgasm, she thought about what the day ahead held. Perhaps a trip back to Icarus for packing and moving. Perhaps she would paint over Elizabeth 's family tree. Then she would go to Helen and Yalia's house. Helen would have to leave about three p.m. for a three-hour class she taught Monday nights. Anne did not mind, especially if Helen's absence meant getting to know Yalia better.
Helen was a tenured professor at Gallaudet University . The back flaps of her books said so, and Regina had talked about the school a little. It was the only liberal arts university in the world for deaf and hard of hearing students. Helen had a deaf friend when she was little, Regina Franklin explained. Helen had signed all her life.
Hello students, Anne imagined Helen signing, her hands flying through the air. Remember our lesson on Anne Boleyn?
Sure, Dr. Franklin.
Great. Well, tear it up. You all pass the quiz. She's alive! Let's go to a Days Inn for show and tell.
Anne allowed herself a chuckle. She imagined Yalia at work. She had quit the police force and become a private investigator. Yalia did not dare go in the streets again. She wanted to never fire a gun again. Regina had leaned in and whispered: "Yalia's miserable being a PI. I don't know what will become of her. Her and Helen. I really don't. Poor Yalia. That poor little boy." Anne had wanted to ask Regina what kind of griever Yalia was: a continual sobber, or withdrawn and aloof. Or both.
Anne replayed how Helen--and Yalia--looked at her. They likely had no idea how communicative their eyes were. They both had looked at Anne like Henry had. Before he found out she could not bear a son.
Helen Eliza Franklin. Yalia Rose Yamaoto. Anne wanted to know more about them. She perceived that they saw through her, through the surface of Anne Boleyn, and saw her as a person. For she was not Anne Boleyn anymore, she was a woman being held prisoner in a so-called enlightened time. She was the victim of an abduction, the victim of a greedy man whose thirst for knowledge knew no bounds. Power corrupted. It corrupted Henry VIII--and Josiah Franklin. It had corrupted Anne too; just ask Bloody Mary. Would power eventually corrupt Helen? And Yalia? Anne wondered, as she had countless times, why she simply had not told Josiah and Benjamin what they wanted to hear. Why she did not cooperate and divulge the secrets of her history and the secrets of Henry VIII. If she did, she might have gained some measure of freedom. Lured them in with so-called trust.
She was stubborn, that was what she was. Stubborn and prideful, and her own life, her own secrets, were all she had to hold onto.
Anne replayed Helen's tongue on hers, and she shivered. Maybe someday Helen would also show her what making love with a woman was like. Or maybe Yalia would. Maybe they both would. Now that was a thought. A fantastic thought, a dream. It would never happen. Anne had picked up on a sort of desperation with Helen and Yalia together. They loved each other, that was obvious. But they were having problems. After all, Yalia had encouraged her wife to kiss another woman.
Helen. Yalia. Anne slipped her hand between her legs again.
*****
About one a.m. , Yalia heard Helen zip up her backpack. She had gone to get it from the car a couple of hours earlier. Her lesson planning must be over, at least for now. Helen went to the bathroom and then got into bed with Yalia. Good. Yalia was glad Helen was not using the other bed.
"You asleep?" Helen whispered.
"No," Yalia whispered back. Helen had left a lamp on, and Yalia positioned herself so she was facing her wife. Helen was naked like her, because they had had nothing but their funeral clothes. Helen was lovely and fragile, and Yalia's heart hurt.
"The bedroom's not ready," Helen said with a sigh. "You sure you're okay with Anne moving in tomorrow? I don't like the idea of her at Icarus or being on her own here."
"The three of us can get the bedroom ready tomorrow," Yalia said.
Helen smiled. "I hope Anne likes dogs and isn't allergic."
"Me too." Yalia felt odd not having the dogs with her. She had called their closest neighbor and asked him to look in on the critters. "I'm sorry," Yalia said. "You have no idea. I want to...I really...I've wanted to touch you and kiss you a long time."
"Won't you let me touch you and kiss you, then?"
"I...I...you can try." Helen touching her after such a long time would be odd, and Yalia braced herself. She was aware she was stiff, too stiff.
Helen brushed her fingertips against Yalia's cheek. Don't flinch. Don't draw away.
"I wish you could talk to me about the shooting," Helen murmured.
"I wish they'd fired me."
"But they didn't. For good reason."
"He had on, uh, a T-shirt with a yellow smiley face."
"Louis? Is that why you drew a yellow smiley face on my card?"
"Huh. I hadn't realized...yeah. I guess so."
"You have to stop punishing yourself. What happened was not your fault."
Yalia allowed herself a little smile, a smile she did not feel. "We've been through this before."
Helen sighed. "Fine. You're right. No point going through this conversation again."
"We were in 1536," Yalia said.
"1536," Helen repeated, awe in her voice. "It feels like a dream. A nightmare."
"Feels real to me. Nothing like a dream." The touch of Sir Kingston steadying her--Anne--burned into Yalia's back. Kingston 's handprint was a forever scar. Yalia's chest squeezed every time she replayed looking into the masked men's faces. And Yalia still felt like a little part of Anne had come back with her.
"Did you like kissing Anne?" Yalia asked.
Helen's brows flickered. "Yeah. Sure I did. You liked it too."
"I did," Yalia admitted. "I think she's different."
"What do you mean?"
"She's different from Tiffany and Gina. Not that I mean we're going to do a threesome. That'd probably be the worst thing in the world. But Anne's different. She just is."
Helen, her green-blue eyes intense, leaned into Yalia. Slowly, sweetly, she kissed Yalia. No tongue. But a perfect kiss, except it should have been Anne's kiss. "I love you," Helen said.
"I love you too."
A wide smile. "Good."
"You can kiss Anne more if you want."
Helen rolled her eyes. "Yalia. Don't."
"What? I'm just saying."
"You're pushing me away."
"I'm not. I don't mean to."
"Well, you are."
Shit. "Hey, Helen. Do you feel like...this sounds stupid, maybe, but do you feel like a little part of Anne came back with you after the fades?"
Helen frowned. "A little part? What do you mean?"
Yalia shook her head. "Never mind." If Helen had to ask, she obviously was not experiencing the phenomenon.
"Tell me. Please."
Yalia's thoughts stumbled, tripping like her four dogs' ungainly strides. "It's like I said. I feel like part of her came back with me. Just a little part. I'm mostly me. I'm ninety percent me. No, ninety-nine percent me. But that one percent of me feels her. It feels Anne." Yalia groaned and lay back in bed. "Ugh. What am I saying? This really is stupid."
"Do you mean one percent of you has Anne's memories and feels what she's feeling right now?"
Shit. Yalia was doing a terrible job explaining. "No. Not at all. I'll tell you what it is. It's none of this mumbo jumbo crap. It's me being an idiot."
Helen frowned again. "What is it?"
"I don't know. Just me being an idiot."
"Hey," Helen said carefully. "I bet this is what it is. You identify with Anne. Very strongly. You were in her body. You were her for a good few seconds. We both were. We felt her fear and her panic. We more than felt it. We were it. And you can't let go of that. You feel it still. It's understandable. Totally."
"Yes," Yalia agreed. "That's a better way of putting it." She thought about the sex toys lurking in a chest under their bed at home. What if Helen died tomorrow without Yalia telling her everything she needed to say? That she loved Helen very much, Helen was definitely the love of her life, all that jazz, and that Yalia had been an idiot to get sidetracked? "I wish I were Anne," Yalia whispered.
"Why?"
Because Anne is not me. "Touching you would be easier. It just would be."
Helen licked her lips, and her eyebrows slanted downward. Yalia knew that expression. Helen's thinking. Helen's hammering out a solution.
"Okay," Helen said. Her lips twisted into a mischievous smile. "Let's play the game. You're Anne. You're Anne Boleyn. What would you like to do to me? Or what would you like me to do to you?"
Ah. The game. Yalia and Helen had played it maybe five, six times. It was a sort of role-playing game in which one of them pretended to be someone else. Yalia's throat squeezed. Her chest squeezed. Her heart pounded in her ears. "Is this the best idea? Considering we're...whatever we are."
"Fuck good ideas and bad ideas. Let's do it."
"Okay." Wow. Yalia and Helen were about to have sex, for the first time in too long. "Helen," Yalia said.
"Mmm?"
"Let's have a child. What do you say? I wish we could make one right now."
Helen blinked, and Yalia did too. I said that? I said: "Let's have a child"? That had been the worst thing to do.
Helen grinned, a wide, genuine grin that made Yalia fall in love with her all over again. "Are you serious?"
Hell, no. "Um...yes. I'm serious." Why not?
"What changed?" Helen asked.
"Nothing," Yalia said. "I never actually stopped wanting kids. I guess I just felt like I didn't deserve them after what happened with Louis. Losing you and...I can be a good mom. I can love a child. Our child. I want to. I want to be with you. And our child. There's no reason for us to split up."
"Are you saying you want a child only so that I won't leave you?"
"No. When you kissed Anne, I knew, I knew something. Hard to explain. But I knew I belong with you. I've been a fool to close myself off." Yalia cupped her hand over Helen's breast. "I'd like you to-- Anne would like you to order her to put on a dildo and strap. And then Anne would like you to ride her like a horse. But we don't have a dildo. So ride Anne's leg."
Helen's eyes gleamed, and the wolfish hunger in them caused the room to tilt around Yalia. Lord, Yalia needed this. She needed this badly.
Helen kissed the base of Yalia's throat and then clambered atop Yalia. Helen had lovely, full tits. Yalia had missed them, very much. "Like what you see?" Helen waggled her tits.
"Very much." You're okay, Yalia. You will be okay. You both will be. Yalia would make herself a better person. Someone Helen deserved to be with. And she would treat Helen right, exactly right. Yalia would be a good mother.
Helen brought a breast to Yalia's mouth, and Yalia traced the aureole with her tongue. Light pink. Suck. Suck. They would be fast, Yalia already knew that. This would be a quickie. But it was a start. Getting back on track.
Helen moaned.
"You should be quiet," Yalia said. "So Anne doesn't hear."
"Right, yeah."
For the next few minutes, Yalia lost herself in her wife, Helen's sounds, her movements. She was in heaven again, touching Helen, having Helen touch her.
Life, suddenly, was good.
"So," Yalia said. "Wow. Just, wow." She was in Anne's library at Icarus, and Anne's paintings took her breath away.
Anne smiled modestly. "You like them?"
"This is my favorite, I think." Yalia indicated the painting in front of her. It showed a woman clawing out of her grave. Creepy. Creepy as shit. Yalia loved it. "I bet you could sell the paintings for millions. We'll transport them gently."
"No. I do not want them coming with me."
Yalia could not believe Anne's words. "You're leaving them here?"
"Maybe. Or I might destroy them."
"But why?"
Anne shrugged. "I am not this... this woman." She pointed to herself. "Do you understand?"
"I think so."
"That woman." Anne indicated the painting. "Who do you think she is?"
"You mean she's someone from your other life?"
"Yes. Who do you think?"
Yalia whirred through possibilities: Anne's mother, one of Henry's wives, or maybe Anne's sister, who had an affair with Henry before Anne did and possibly had bore him a son. "Katherine?" Yalia guessed. "The first Katherine."
"No. But close. She's Mary. My stepdaughter."
Yalia studied the painting again. The woman was exquisite, and her Spanish blood was evident despite her porcelain skin. "Do you feel guilty about how you treated her?" Yalia asked.
"I do. I wonder often about her last moments."
"She died of some sort of tumor, right?"
"Yes, according to your wife. It was Mary's second so-called pregnancy. The first one was wishful thinking causing her belly to swell as if she was pregnant."
" Ps eudocyesis." Yalia imagined Mary's desperation to have a child. The powers of the mind were astonishing. Women with pseudocyesis gained weight, had no periods, or irregular periods, and exhibited symptoms of pregnancy. However, Mary's second false pregnancy, the one that Helen posited killed her, definitely had a medical cause. The growth could have been a cyst, or cancer, or many other ors. The cause of the first false pregnancy was up in the air, but many people tended toward pseudocyesis.
Anne indicated the black suitcase at her side. "All I wish to bring is in here. I can create new artwork."
"As you wish."
"I am ready to go as soon as Helen finishes talking with Benjamin."
Yalia wanted to ask more about Mary, but now was not the time. "Let's find them. I'll take that for you." Yalia reached for the suitcase, and her hand brushed Anne's.
Electricity. Pussy tingle. Helen bucking atop Yalia. What is kissing a woman like? What is making love to a woman like?
"You held a bug for some fades," Yalia said.
"Yes."
"What kind of bug?"
"A caterpillar. It was fat and soft and hairy. I liked it."
"The same caterpillar each time?"
"No, different ones."
Yalia flashed back to her youth, to softball. Several times, she had arrived for practice to find many caterpillars on the field. She loved these things. "After the fade, did you feel the caterpillar with you?"
"With me?"
"You said you could feel it with you during the fade. But what about after?"
"No," Anne said. "Why do you ask, Lady Yamaoto?"
"Just wondering," Yalia said gruffly. "Come on, let's go."
Anne touched Yalia. Touched her on the wrist, lightly, with purpose. More electricity. "I know what you mean, Lady Yamaoto."
"You do?"
Anne nodded. "I said we are alike."
*****
Anne finished putting up her few possessions and surveyed her bedroom. Not her bedroom, per se. But her new--and temporary--bedroom. She liked it. For one thing, it had two windows. It was not a dungeon. The view was nice, and-- oh, no. A chill enveloped Anne. She recognized the blue car parking in the distance. Jordan . Icarus. And Anne was in the bedroom that faced the street, also the bedroom closest to the front door. I am unsafe. I will always be.
Anne took a deep breath. Calm yourself. She glanced down, and four pairs of canine eyes looked back up at her. The dogs had followed her every move in the bedroom, and their goofy grins soothed Anne's unease. She pulled the blinds down and fastened the curtains. She would not make Jordan 's job easy.
She listened. Nothing. Yalia was cooking dinner, so Anne should be safe. She sat on the floor, and the dogs crowded in on her.
"Doggies," Anne said, and she remembered her daughter. Anne would like to see Elizabeth play with dogs. And four of them! These four dogs had bad breath, but that did not bother Anne. She reviewed the short list in her mind: Mario, the mostly yellow dog, Toad, the ugly one, Luigi, big brown eyes, Bowser, the fat one.
Mario chuffed at Anne, and the three other dogs followed suit. Then they were knocking her over, walking over her, licking, grinning, just being happy, and then Anne felt her. Yalia. Her presence.
Anne straightened, embarrassed to be caught on the floor in a state that involved dishevelment, red cheeks and dog drool. "Lady Yamaoto," Anne said primly.
"Anne," Yalia said, and she wore an amused smile. Unlike Helen, Yalia did not call her "Your Majesty." This did not bother Anne.
Yalia held up a can of peas. "Would you like peas to go with the chicken and baked potato? Have you had peas?"
"Yes. And that would be fine."
Yalia smiled again, and the smile crinkled her eyes. "I'm glad the dogs like you. And that you like them."
"Very well."
Another smile. "Okay, then. I'll let you guys be."
Anne remembered Jordan outside, lurking. She did not want Yalia to leave. "I think Elizabeth would like the dogs."
Yalia hazarded a cautious step forward. "What was your daughter like?"
Anne patted her hair and decided not to bother. Getting it back in order after the dogs' trampling required more than patting. "She did not live with me."
"Right. She had her own household."
"I did not see her much. She was a stranger to me. But a lovely stranger with a most charming laugh."
"You picked out her clothes."
"The material and colors, yes," Anne said. "She probably never remembered me." Elizabeth was not yet three years old when Anne was executed. The day of the execution likely was just another day for the little girl.
"I'm sorry," Yalia said.
Anne got to her feet and found her hairbrush. "Do you and Helen plan children?"
"We're, uh...we're going to have a child. I'm not sure when, but probably soon. She's forty, and I'm thirty-nine."
"Why did you wait?"
"I...I couldn't stomach the thought of having a child after I killed one. Helen really wanted kids. I hated telling her I didn't want them anymore. She was actually going to leave me, but..." Yalia chuckled.
"But she stayed with you."
Yalia smiled faintly. "I think I can do it. Have a child. I don't want to lose Helen." Yalia set the can of peas on the dresser.
"Who did Helen kiss? The other woman?"
"Someone named Devon . I don't know her."
"You did not watch them kiss?"
Yalia chuckled self-consciously. "I did not."
"Why?"
"I was not with them."
"I believe you enjoyed the kiss between me and Helen."
"As did you."
Anne inclined her head in affirmation. Her affinity for Yalia grew. The two of them could have a forthright, reasonably honest conversation without devolving into jealous tears or a clawing, shouting match. They understood each other.
"Were you surprised when you saw me?" Anne asked. "At my plainness? This is the woman Henry VIII tossed England over for?"
"You're not plain."
Anne laughed. "I am plain. I am nothing to boast about." It was her confidence, her apparent confidence anyway, her training in seduction, her playfulness, that gave Anne her beauty. How she used her body, her sexuality. Her dark eyes, too.
"Okay," Yalia said, and her amused smile was back. "Fine. You're plain. So, Helen's a good kisser, huh?"
Anne tried to keep her expression non-reactive. "She was serviceable."
"Serviceable."
"Thank you for allowing me a kiss. If I fade into nothingness, at least I will know what a woman's kiss is like."
"That's good," Yalia said.
Anne let her gaze fall to her hands. I still desire to know what making love with a woman is like. She had been careful to keep her hands groomed. Her fingernails, like Benjamin's, had no imperfections. Anne felt Yalia's gaze on her, a gaze strong, steady, wanting, and Anne's heartbeat skittered. Her insides and that area between her legs stirred. She had not had sex in four years. Never had sex with a woman. Never had good sex. However, at Francis's court, she had witnessed a few female-female encounters, and not always in groupings of two.
Yalia retrieved the peas. "Dinner calls." She flashed a smile and then was gone.
But Yalia was back a few minutes later, not with a can of peas, but a light-pink box. "This is a vibrator," Yalia said. "I got it last year, and I haven't opened it. So, if you want to try it..." She held the box out.
Surprise jerked inside Anne. "Very well," she said, covering up that she was startled. She had read about vibrators in several books and magazines. She had listened to references about vibrators on television. They were supposed to give wonderful orgasms. Never-felt-before sensations.
"Let me open this for you." Yalia tussled with the plastic on the box. "Finally. There you go."
Anne took the box. It was not heavy. THE LUV TOY, it read in dark pink letters.
"It's battery operated," Yalia said. "I used to have an electric vibrator. It was great, but I had a hard time coming during sex because the vibrator spoiled me. It desensitized my clit some."
Anne wondered why Yalia was doing this. Was this Yalia's way of trying to assert control in a strange situation after the kiss yesterday? Did the kiss frighten Yalia? She must not be as fine with the situation as Anne had believed. Or was Yalia coming on to her? Or scared and coming on to her?
Anne held up THE LUV TOY box. "Is this between us? Is your wife not to know?"
Yalia shook her head, almost violently. "Helen can know. I didn't mean it like that. It's nothing to hide or feel embarrassed about."
*****
"DINNER WAS GOOD," Anne's text read. "CHICKEN, BAKED POTATO, PEAS. YOU WILL HAVE GOOD LEFTOVERS. I HOPE YOUR CLASS IS GOING WELL. JORDAN AND HIS CAR SULK IN THE DISTANCE."
Helen's finger twitched, and she forced herself to take a bite from her turkey sandwich. Damn Jordan , but as long as he was careful enough to stay off her private property, she could do little. Besides, calling the police or getting a restraining order would necessitate telling the world Anne Boleyn existed today.
Helen was on a twenty-minute dinner break from class, and she would tell Anne later that all capital letters were the equivalent of screaming. "OK," Helen thumbed back. "That's great about dinner. See you in a few hours. I will talk with Jordan tomorrow or something, promise."
Christ. Jesus effing Christ.
Yesterday had been crazy. Helen had traveled to 1536 twice, and then her wife encouraged her to kiss Anne Boleyn. And Helen had. And then Yalia said she wanted a child and let Helen have a fuck. Miracles all around.
At Icarus earlier that day, Benjamin had given Helen a wad of cash totaling three thousand dollars. "For Anne," Benjamin explained. "For her upkeep. For now, anyway."
Helen had not wanted to take the money. But taken it she had. The cash would come in useful. She and Yalia were not broke, or living paycheck to paycheck, but having a third person to take care of was expensive. Helen had refused all of her father's money over the years, and if he had left her some of his billions or property in his will, she was not sure what she would do. She would cross that bridge if it popped up. In the big picture, three thousand dollars was cockroach-sized.
*****
Helen liked to jam her hands in her pockets a lot, Anne noticed. Like about right now, as Helen stood in the doorway of Anne's bedroom. Helen's expression was troubled, and she looked more kissable than ever. Her hair was a mess, and Anne loved that Helen had no idea. Helen had gotten home about five minutes ago, at eleven p.m. A light, but unexpected, snow and subsequent wrecks on Interstate 66 had delayed Helen by an hour.
"Have a good time while I was away?" Helen asked.
"Yes. Would you like to come in?"
"I could use some wine after that hellish drive. Join me and Yalia in the living room for a glass?"
"Very well."
A few moments later, Helen and Yalia were settled on the couch. Anne sat in the oversized chair across them. "The Icarus car was still here when I got home," Helen said darkly. " Jordan wasn't in it. Someone I didn't recognize was. I guess that rules out Jordan being a robot who doesn't need food and sleep."
Yalia smiled, but Anne could not taste the wine. Not as fully as she was capable of, anyway. She mostly tasted Icarus's presence and Josiah's presence: ominous, everywhere.
"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Helen said. "Jordan or whomever is in the car. I'll see what he wants."
"Thank you," Anne said. "How was your class?"
Helen grimaced. "Slow. I wanted to be here with you guys."
"That would have been nice."
"Really?"
"Yes, Lady Franklin ," Anne said, and she felt Helen's tongue with hers again. Anne had been too scared to kiss back, and she regretted it now. Who knew when she might get another kiss? Or if she would?
"I should not have left my paintings at Icarus," Anne decided.
"Why?"
Anne inclined her head toward Yalia. "You said they would have made money. Upon reflection, I agree, and I need a way to support myself."
"I'll get them tomorrow. Not a problem. We'll figure something out with money. Yalia has a friend who owns an art gallery. He probably could set a show up. You're good. Really good."
"I haven't talked to him a while," Yalia said.
"Call him, then. Get back in touch."
"Okay," Yalia mumbled.
"Did you learn painting in your other time?" Helen asked Anne.
"Not much. Your mother taught me."
Helen nodded. "I thought she might have. Your styles are similar." A chuckle. "Can't say your subject matters are similar, though."
Anne pointed to a painting of the Capitol on the far wall, only the capitol was orange. "She did that. I see the dot." Regina always had a purple dot in the lower left corner of her paintings. She signed her name near it.
Helen sipped from her wine. "Someday, you're going to tell me all you know about my mother. But not now."
"She was a good painter."
Helen's lips were tight. "Moving on. I'm also going to ask Benjamin to, ah, to draw up false papers for you. A fake driver's license, all that."
"Hmm."
"Do you know how to drive?"
"I do not."
"We'll teach you. What name would you like to use on your papers?"
The first name that occurred to Anne was George. George, dear brother. "My name could be Anne George."
"Anne George. I like that. Want a middle name?"
" Elizabeth . I can become Anne Elizabeth George."
Helen's lips tugged up. "Perfect. Happy birthday, Anne Elizabeth George." Helen finished her wine in a long sip, and she yawned widely. "I'm more tired than I thought. Better be off to bed."
Anne did not want Helen to go, especially since Yalia would probably follow her. The unknown Icarus man lurked outside, waiting. Watching. "You may ask me something, Lady Franklin," Anne said. Three. Three is a good number. "Three questions. You have permission to ask me three questions about my past."
"I don't, I really don't..." Helen fiddled with her wineglass. "I don't mind studying you from a distance. I'm not like my father. I won't poke and prod you."
"Three questions," Anne said firmly. "Now." This was not a request, but an order.
"What if I don't want to?"
"Ask me three questions. If I am still here tomorrow, you can ask three more questions. And three questions every day after that until I am gone. You publish a new book with my answers after I am gone. Will people believe you? Will people believe this ludicrous story?"
"You are not going to die," Helen said with quiet emphasis.
"Question one."
Helen shifted uncomfortably. "I really..."
"I'll ask," Yalia said, her voice strong and steady. "If you want me to."
Helen shot her wife a grateful smile. "Fine with me."
"Why does learning about me frighten you, Lady Franklin?"
"It doesn't," Helen said cautiously. "It's just that I feel like I, and many others, violated you. Your privacy. I do not want to intrude further is all."
"Like I said, I grant permission."
"Do I get to record this or write notes as you speak?"
"No." Anne gave Yalia a look. "Question one."
Yalia thought a second. "Why did you finally give in and have sex with Henry?" she asked. "What was the trigger?"
"The time had come," Anne said simply.
"But why?" Helen asked. "Why was it time?"
"Like your book said, I had reached more prominence during the French visit. The nobility was more tolerant of me. Henry was getting too frustrated that the pope was not granting his divorce."
"Did your father have a say in when you would bed Henry?" Helen asked. "Or was the decision wholly yours?"
"Of course he had a say in the matter," Anne retorted. "A tremendous say. I was a puppet. My father knew the lusts of men, and he knew how long Henry was willing to wait. You know as well as I do, Lady Franklin, that being a woman in Tudor times was no better and no more powerful than being a dog. Question two, please."
Helen looked to Yalia, and Yalia asked: "When you were pregnant with Elizabeth , were you afraid she would be a girl?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. I kept up a brave front. The baby would be a boy, the future king of England , and that was that. Inside, I was unsure. Henry was probably as nervous as I was, but from the way he puffed and thumped his chest, you would imagine he was capable of peeking inside me and seeing our baby's penis. A girl..." Anne's voice trailed off. "When Elizabeth was born, when I found out she was a girl, I refused to think anything except: 'The next baby will be a boy.' I was afraid for Henry to come see me. To come see us. But he did. He had to. He was the father of my child."
"What was that meeting like?" Yalia asked.
"Henry stood in the doorway a long time. Only Elizabeth and I were in the room. Henry was a shadow. I was exhausted from the labor. I wanted to weep. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to weep more. I held the baby, and at last he approached. He looked at her. He looked at me. His face was still. His face was contained. He had big fingers, Henry did. Thick. He touched one of his fingers to her nose. ' Elizabeth ,' he said, and his voice was angry and sad and sweet and desperate. I knew for certain I was dead if I did not produce a boy soon. Then my husband left."
"Did you love him?" Helen asked. "At any point?"
"No," Anne said defiantly.
"Was he good in bed?"
Anne gave a mirthless laugh. "The things people want to know."
"Your Majesty--"
"I will answer tomorrow, if you ask the question again. We are finished today. I believe you and Lady Yamaoto asked more than three questions."
"Very well," Helen said. Unconsciously imitating Anne's way of speaking?
Anne's throat tightened. What had she been thinking, ending the conversation? She did not want Helen and Yalia to leave. "I suppose he was serviceable," Anne said.
Yalia grinned. "You like that word, don't you?"
Yalia's grin prompted gratitude and bravery from Anne. "He was not serviceable. He was quick and selfish."
"I know what you mean," Yalia said.
"In France , I saw, I had seen women who, they were together sexually. They took their time. They enjoyed each other. I did not enjoy Henry. I wanted to be one of them ."
"It's okay," Helen said, a gentle softness in her voice.
Anne pressed her lips together. "God says it is not. But in many ways, the God of 1536 is not the same God as today."
"Yes," Helen agreed. "You are correct. God is changing. Society is changing."
Anne wrapped her arms around herself. She felt stupid. And alone, very alone. She wanted to be in the movies again, with Yalia's arms around her. Or for Helen to put her arms around her. She did not want to be in a bleak bed by herself. When she was a child, she sometimes climbed into bed with her brother or her sister. Once in a while, the three of them slept together.
Helen yawned again, and Anne knew her new friend was lost for the time being. "Good night," Anne said. I hope Icarus does not have equipment that can see through walls.
"I am sorry you are in this position, Your Majesty," Helen said.
"I am sorry also. I shall stay awake as long as I can. I feel unsafe."
Helen shifted her gaze to the living room windows, as if she could see through the blinds to the Icarus man. Her expression was angry, and she shook her head. "Forget tomorrow. I will talk to him now."
"No, Lady Franklin. The dark is dangerous. I shall be fine."
Helen got to her feet. "Well, I won't be fine. You shouldn't be alone."
"I shall be fine. Truly."
"Helen's right," Yalia said. "You shouldn't be alone, especially since your room faces the street."
"So there we have it," Helen said with finality. "Our bed is big enough. It's a king size, so it can fit one queen and two regular ladies." Helen chuckled. "Want to sleep with Yalia and me tonight? Or if that makes you uncomfortable, I will stay in your bedroom with you. I will bring a chair or something."
Anne's breath caught in her throat. In bed with Helen and Yalia? Her body jumped. Her nerves jumped. Impossible.
Anne smiled, hoping the smile was noncommittal. "Is that not odd for you?"
Helen shrugged. She grinned. She had a way of grinning that put Anne at ease, that made Anne want to know everything about her. "This whole thing is weird. What's one more odd thing?"
"Three is not a bad number," Yalia put in. "It has power."
Anne stood. "Thank you, Lady Franklin, Lady Yamaoto. You are most kind." One of her crying spells threatened to engulf her. Not now, please. Later. She wiped at her eyes, but some moistness escaped. Halt. Go away.
"Hey." Helen's tones were concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Anne said. "What you are doing is extremely kind, that is all. I am a burden to you. You do not want me. You are most kind to befriend me and take me into your home." And into your bed, even if only for one night.
Helen squeezed Anne's hand. "No feeling sorry for yourself, okay? Yalia and I are glad to have you. Come on. Leave your glass. Let's go to bed."
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