[center]
The Hoop and the Harm
Conclusion[/center]
Much of the carnage of the next few hours could have been avoided had Willow thought to change out of her orange “The Dynasty Continues” t-shirt before bolting up to Tara’s room. But she hadn’t--partly from pride, and partly from knowledge that the shirt wouldn’t be on much longer anyway.
Anya and Amy weren’t demure creatures to begin with. Throw a lot of vodka and ramped-up school spirit into the mix, and the two women who stumbled through the door of Room 762 at 2:30 in the morning were making enough noise to wake the dead. They were certainly making enough noise to wake the lesbians a few feet away.
“Oh my God--you
ho!” Anya shouted gleefully as she threw on the light. “Tara Maclay, you ivory-tickling tramp!”
Tara could barely form a thought. Mortification surged through her with just slightly less force than her orgasm earlier that night. “Uh, guys…could you give us a moment?” she finally asked, even as she spotted the orange t-shirt half-hidden under the luggage stand.
If I can just get her out of here, no one needs to know.
Anya flopped down onto the bed with a companionable smile. “Tara tells us you’re from Duke. That must mean you’re very smart. Are all Duke girls as easy as you?”
Well at least she didn’t tell her I was from UConn…
“Anya, we don’t even know if this is the same woman from last night. Tara could be branching out into a whole new level of skankdom.” Amy, who studied biology, loved classifying things.
“Guys, really--we’d like to get dressed.” Tara knew her voice was growing desperate and she didn’t care.
Damn orange shirt. They couldn’t have beige for a school color…
Anya leaned up against the head board and patted Tara’s shoulder. “Look who’s suddenly all shy. You know--wait, what’s your name?”
“Willow.”
“You know, Willow, we’ve been trying to get Tara to go out more for years now. Always practicing; always studying. And now here she is--banging one if not two total strangers in the space of twenty-four hours!” Her eyes lit up with a conspiratorial glint. “Tell me--are her fingers as strong as they look? You know what they say about pianists.”
“Anya, please--a little privacy.”
Any moment now she’ll be suggesting a foursome. Actually, she would probably suggest a threesome and send Amy, who had notoriously bad breath, out for pizza.
“Oh fine, we’ll go. C’mon Amy. ” Anya hopped out of bed and started for the door.
Keep walking. Just keep walking. “You two exchange the standard goodbyes and a few more full-body embraces, and we’ll--” She froze, and then let out a cry that woke other lesbians a few more feet away as well as four of the more recently deceased denizens of Fairhaven Cemetery across the street.
“What is it?” Amy asked, jumping back. “A mouse? A rabbit?”
But Tara knew what she’d found, and from the stiffening of the redhead next to her, so did Willow. Anya bent down and picked up the t-shirt, holding it as far from her body as possible, pinched between her thumb and forefinger. Her expression suggested that she was holding plutonium covered in dog shit.
“Oh my God.” Amy’s voice was barely a whisper.
Tara decided it was time to get her butch on. “That’s it. You two out, now.” Anya dropped the shirt and peered at Willow.
“You’ve been virtually silent the whole time. At first I figured it was East Coast reserve, but now I’m assuming you’re impaired.”
“Out--now!” The door slammed behind them. Tara turned and gave Willow a torn look. She felt guilty on about five different levels. There was a moment’s silence, and then Willow murmured, “Nice friends. Think they’ll throw us a shower?”
“Maybe they’ll serve cold-cuts after the funeral,” Tara replied, shaking her head. Then she turned to Willow. “That’s it. We can’t do this anymore.”
“But I want to,” Willow said simply.
Tara gave her an exasperated stare. “Look, we obviously have some truly amazing chemistry. That’s not in question. But I’m already going to catch enough grief from them as it is. I mean, would you want Buffy to know about this?”
Willow shrugged. “I’m not sure. But I do know we’re big girls and we should be able to see who we want. And I want to see you. Again.” She hadn’t even realized how strongly she felt about it until she said the words.
Tara sighed. “Look, Willow--and by the way, that’s a lovely name and I’m glad I know it--look, this is the most we’ve actually talked since we laid eyes on each other. Our time together has consisted of trading insults and fucking each other senseless.”
“And you play the piano.”
“What?” Maybe she was dreaming, because the conversation was turning surreal.
“You play the piano. Anya said so. And…And I realized that I liked knowing that. I liked knowing something about you.”
Tara just looked at her helplessly. “Willow, aside from the fact that we’re sworn enemies--and yes, I actually do agree that big girls are free to date whomever they want unless it’s Anne Heche, in which case you should probably be careful. But aside from that fact, this whole thing--the Final Four--ends the day after tomorrow. We both go home. You live in Tennessee and I live in Connecticut. What exactly can come of this?”
“I don’t know,” Willow said stubbornly. “But I want to find out. And I think we should see if there’s anything here besides sex. Do you see how determined I am?”
“Yeah, I do,” Tara said, frowning. “What is that, some kind of resolve face?”
Willow beamed excitedly. “That’s what
I call it! No one else has ever called it that before!”
Tara wasn’t exactly sure that sharing the redhead’s singular style of nomenclature was a good thing, but she was also having a hard time letting go of the chance to see her again.
Willow, perhaps sensing that Tara was wavering, leaned in and stroked her cheek. “Look, your friends will be back soon, and--wait, they won’t kill me when I leave the room and dump the body in the laundry chute will they?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Tara replied. “If they get too close, just start singing ‘Rocky Top.’ That’ll stop them long enough for you to make your escape.”
“OK, good. So--I have a proposition.”
“Going to proposition me again, are you? I thought you wanted to see if there was more here than sex.” But Tara couldn’t keep a slight grin off her face.
“Fine, Smarty McSmartstein. Here’s my
invitation.” She took a deep breath. “We meet for dinner tonight. I mean, tomorrow night. Saturday night. Someplace public, where we won’t end up fucking each other’s brains out within the first five minutes. In fact, we make a vow
not to have sex. We have a regular old dinner and talk. We don’t discuss Tennessee or UConn aside from talking about our majors and our friends. And if we find out that we really don’t have anything to talk about--that it’s just a physical connection--then we shake hands and wrap up early. You go your way; I go mine.”
Tara looked doubtful. “God, Willow, I just keep thinking how pointless it would be. So what if we
do like each other? We’re still leaving in two days. What--we just find this connection and then say goodbye? Try to make something work across, oh, about five different states?”
“I don’t know,” Willow answered truthfully. “I just feel like I’ve played it safe my whole life and from what it sounds like, you have, too. And I don’t want to. At the very least, I want to look back when I’m older and say, ‘You know, I took a wild chance with this beautiful woman at the 2008 Final Four. It was crazy and totally senseless and I did it.’” She leaned over suddenly and kissed Tara softly. It was the first time they had kissed without expecting to have sex immediately afterward, and both of them were a little thrown by how much they liked it.
“So what say you, Tara Maclay? Will you do this humble redhead the honor of joining her for dinner tonight? At the local eatery of your choice?”
Tara gazed at her for a long moment.
This is absolutely ridiculous. And I’m going to say yes.
“Yes.”
[center]
* * * * *[/center]
Willow left a few minutes later, after they agreed to meet at 7:00 at the Zydeco Grill. “See? We both like Cajun,” Willow chortled. Anya and Amy returned barely two minutes after her departure.
“Guys, I’m not in the mood,” Tara said preemptively. “I know she’s from Tennessee and I know that it violates all known laws of nature and women’s basketball and I know that Faith would have a coronary but we’re not going to tell her and it’s my choice and we are not going to discuss this.” She expected a greater outcry, certainly from Anya, but her friend just gazed at her in concern. Finally she came over and sat beside Tara on the bed; reaching over, she took Tara’s hand in her own.
“Tara, sweetie…You…You know she wears orange, right? And with that red hair. I mean, you see how unnatural this is, don’t you?”
Tara drew back defiantly. “Dammit, Anya, I’m not a child. I can do what I like. And by the way, I know this shouldn’t be possible but…but…she looks good in orange! There--I said it!”
Anya recoiled in horror, and then leaned in, peering at her closely. “So tell me, Tara--when you said that just now, could you actually feel Satan entering your body? Or is it more subtle than that?”
It was almost four o’clock before they finally went to bed--Tara insisting one last time that sleeping with Willow did not make her a traitor to the Husky nation, and her roommates wondering if perhaps an intervention might help.
[center]
[/center]
When Tara walked into Zydeco’s that Saturday night, wearing not Husky blue but a lavender sweater that fit her snugly, Willow was willing to throw out the “No public sex” vow. She herself was sporting a tailored green shirt over a black camisole and was suddenly insanely glad she’d chosen to pack it.
As Tara approached their table, she saw the blue eyes darken.
Either she’s regretting she came, or she’s ready to come again. She greeted the blonde with a nervous smile.
“You look really nice,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.
“So do you,” Tara murmured, then leaned in and placed an unexpected kiss on Willow’s cheek. “And you smell good, too.” Lingering just a moment, she added, “Do we have to observe the ‘No sex’ policy?” Willow felt herself growing a little dizzy, and a lot wet. But she pulled back.
“I think that for now, yes--we abstain.” They took their seats, each independently grateful for the dim lighting that was already creating a different sort of ambience than they’d known. The restaurant was fairly quiet, and Willow wondered if Tara had chosen it because it wasn’t a sports bar where they would be surrounded by rowdy fans.
“So, Tara Maclay, tell me a little about yourself.” Willow smiled as Tara gave her a quirky grin.
“Is this an interview?” she asked wryly.
“Yes, for both of us. Each of us will present herself as well but as truthfully as possible and we shall see what kind of fit we have.”
“I already know how you fit me,” Tara said, her voice suddenly quiet. “I know how you fit
in me.”
Willow felt her breath leave her body and head to the Gulf Coast. But then she squared her shoulders. “Such commentary, while…
evocative, does not further the aims of tonight’s
tete-a-tete. Although, let me add, it just took me to a wonderful place.” They gazed at each other across a table lit by a single candle, the other patrons oblivious to their energy.
Just then the waiter appeared with water and menus. “Can I get you ladies something to drink?” asked the slender young man whose name tag identified him as Jason.
How about her? Willow thought, but shook her head and instead just asked for a Diet Coke. Tara ordered an iced tea.
“Great,” Jason said with apparent sincerity. “So--you two here for the Final Four?”
Tara and Willow glanced at each other. Some kind of understanding of this night led them to say in unison, “No.”
As Jason walked away, Willow leaned in a smiled. “So…You’re studying piano for school? Are you a performance major? What does a music performance major do after graduation? And when do you graduate, anyway? And you’ll probably need to stop me at some point because I tend to build up a head of steam and I don’t want to frighten you off in case you
are someone that I don’t want to be…frightened of me.”
Why does she have to be so damn cute? This would be easier if she were just a great fuck and nothing else. But that, apparently, wasn’t the case.
“Well, this pianist is indeed a music performance major and she graduates in May and she’s going to graduate school.”
Jason had reappeared with their drinks; Willow waited until he had left before asking, “Where?”
“Boston University.”
There. That should put an end to it. It’s not like I’m moving to the Midwest. But Willow had choked on her soda. She held up her hand to indicate she was fine, and then grinned at Tara with eyes slightly red-rimmed from coughing.
“Of course you are,” she laughed, shaking her head. At Tara’s questioning gaze, she said, “I’m graduating in May, too. I’ve been recruited as a software developer for Eco-Tech.” Tara had heard of the firm, even being as techno-illiterate as she was. From her understanding, it was one of the up-and-coming businesses devoted to finding viable solutions to such problems as carbon emissions and waste management.
“And this is amusing because…?” Tara asked.
“Because the home office is in Boston.”
[center]
* * * * *[/center]
When their very, very long dinner ended a few minutes before eleven, Jason having progressed from solicitous to patient to slightly impatient to just this side of actively rude, Tara still wasn’t sure how she felt about what was happening between them. But she realized somewhere between the red beans and rice and the shrimp
etouffe that she had a helluva decision on her hands. She had never been so attracted to anyone in her life, and she had never enjoyed anyone’s company so much.
But it would be a risk; it would be difficult; it would take compromise from both parties. Even with Willow moving to Boston, there were no guarantees.
Can I do this? Willow’s words the night before, about living the safe life, had rung truer to her than she admitted. If she really did want to live a full life--if she wanted to take the same risks in her life that she did in her music--didn’t she have to explore this?
But was that crazy? What if they got to Boston and discovered that really, their connection had been a function of a particular place and circumstance; an energy that was singular this time?
Sex wasn’t an option that night. Amy and Anya had announced that they would be in the room by midnight, knowing that Tara was meeting Willow and apparently deciding that this was the best they could manage in the way of prevention. Dawn had enjoyed some nice early flirtation at the bar, but left when Veruca got too animal for her. “God, it was like she was trying to devour me,” she complained. So Willow’s room was out, too.
Willow had decided within the first fifteen minutes that she wanted to try this. Maybe it was the atmosphere; maybe she was just ripe for an adventure. But she’d come to St. Pete never expecting to have a fling in the first place.
If I’m gonna go busting out a new philosophy, might as well do it all the way. Tara, though…She could tell that the other woman was hesitant.
As they finally left the restaurant, Willow took her hands. “Will I see you again? I mean, the game’s at noon and my flight leaves at seven.”
“I have the red-eye,” Tara replied softly. “I head out at midnight tomorrow.”
“So then…Will I see you again?” Willow asked, and this time her voice held something soft and plaintive in it.
“God, Willow--I want to. I really do. I want to say yes and then stay in contact over the next few months and make plans to meet you for dinner at the funkiest little place in Boston. But…I’m afraid. And when I’m afraid I tend to run. Not well, mind you…It’s more of a lurch.” Her grin was strained.
“I’m scared too,” Willow said simply, and they stood gazing at each other. Finally they hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel. The ride was a silent one, but they held hands all the way.
At the hotel, they loitered outside, neither wanting to say goodbye in the bustle of fans rushing around them. Willow raised Tara’s hand to her lips, pressed a kiss into the tapered fingers.
“Let me give you my number,” Tara began, but Willow stopped her.
“No. We don’t part like that. I have one last proposition for you, beautiful woman.” She drew a deep breath. “The game starts at noon. It should be over by 2:15; 2:30 at the latest. If you’re interested in at least giving this a shot, meet me in the park across from the arena, by that big sculpture of the birds, at 3:00. Give me your answer then, and I promise that whatever it is, I’ll respect you. If you don’t show , I’ll take that to mean that you had a great time and under different circumstances you’d give it a shot but the fall is too far away and there are too many question marks and you’d rather this be a great memory. If we run into each other in Boston…” She trailed off, knowing that in a city of that size, such a meeting might well never occur. Then she shook her head. “If we run into each other in Boston, we say hi and if there’s anything between us, we take it from there.”
Tara could only nod. After a moment, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Willow’s forehead, and then another against her lips. “You are a remarkable woman, Willow Rosenberg.”
“And you are the best time I’ve ever had, Tara Maclay,” she whispered. Finally she pulled away with a tiny smile. “You go on ahead,” she nodded toward the door. “I’m going to stay out here and get some air for a while.”
Tara gazed at her for a long moment, and then turned and walked through the sliding glass doors of the St. Petersburg Marriott. She didn’t look back.
[center]
[/center]
Of course. Of course it’s going to go down like this.
Tara stared at the scoreboard. The game was tied at 72 apiece, with .5 seconds left on the clock. Unless Faith managed to connect on a desperation heave, it would go into overtime.
Buffy and Faith were each performing as expected. Every time they met, each woman stepped it up a little. Sportswriters compared them to the great tennis duels between Chris and Martina in the 1980’s. Faith had 26 points and 14 rebounds; Buffy had 25 and 9, with 8 assists. It was a classic.
After using its last time-out of regulation, UConn broke huddle. Everyone in the gym knew who would be attempting the shot and sure enough, Tennessee put two defenders on Faith. She ran off the screen and broke to the middle of the court but when she went up for the in-bounds pass, one of the defenders came with her. The pass glanced off her fingers and fell harmlessly to the court as the buzzer sounded.
They were going to overtime. Tara glanced at her watch. It was 2:19.
[center]
* * * * *[/center]
There were five ticks on the clock as Faith took her spot at the free-throw line. Tennessee was up by two, and if there was one knock on Lehane, it was that she could stand to work on her foul shots. When Tennessee fouled her in the act of shooting, there was a general sense among Vols fans that that wasn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world. And here she was, facing the two biggest free throws of her life at the end of overtime, down two in the national championship.
She’s Tara’s best friend. If she doesn’t make this, it’ll crush her. She must be crazy right now. She tried to remember that Buffy was
her best friend. And she wouldn’t lie to herself--she didn’t want Faith to make these shots. She wanted Tennessee to win; wanted to celebrate with the friend who had stood by her when being an out lesbian in Knoxville wasn’t the easiest thing to do.
But Tara must be almost sick right now…
She could barely watch as Faith, who to all appearances was the least nervous person in the building right now, calmly gave the ball one bounce, then another. She set, eyed the hoop, and released, her motion practiced and smooth.
That crazy orange sphere seemed determined to visit every square centimeter of the hoop…before finally dropping through the net.
Oh shit…
Faith had apparently left her free-throw shooting concerns on the plane. The second shot had none of the commitment issues of the first. If it touched iron, Willow couldn’t see it. It swished through and as Tennessee called their last time-out of this overtime period, Faith trotted casually toward the Husky bench as if she’d just played a game of H-O-R-S-E with the neighbor kid.
Pat drew up the play that everyone knew would ask for Buffy to pull off a miracle, one more for the team she’d carried for four years. Connecticut put pressure on the in-bounds play, and finally Tennessee had to dump it off to Morgan, their point guard. Morgan got the ball to Buffy but she had no good angle and her shot clanged off the rim and bounced up over the backboard as time expired.
They were going to double overtime.
Willow glanced at her watch. It was 2:37.
[center]
* * * * *[/center]
Tara stared miserably at the court, then back at her watch.
This is ridiculous. I’m sitting in the middle of the all-time greatest championship game in women’s basketball, and I’m looking at the clock...And I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.
[center]
* * * * *[/center]
There’s no way she’d leave this now, not with the score tied and the game heading into its third overtime...She doesn’t think I’ll leave, either.
It was 2:48. If she was going to make it to the park, she had to leave in the next five minutes. But there were less than four minutes to go, and the score was dead even.
Willow knew, though, just how slowly four minutes could go. Dead balls; time-outs; TV time-outs…It would almost certainly be at least 3:10 before the game was over--if this OT even decided it. The way it looked, the two teams might just play until one team’s entire roster fouled out.
You don’t even know if she’ll show up. If only she’d given Tara her cell phone number. Tara could at least call her if she intended to meet her; say that obviously they’d wait until the end of the game.
But she had wanted to make it definite. If Tara were interested, she’d be there. If not, Willow would leave and try not to think about her.
Good luck with that.
And now she was frantic with indecision--on the one hand knowing that she had to go if she wanted to be there by 3:00; on the other, telling herself she was crazy to even think about leaving this game at this moment, especially in pursuit of a woman who may or may not show up herself.
Maybe they would both wait until the end of the game, and then head to the park…But if Tara made that sacrifice and went, only to find that Willow hadn’t, how could she ask her to take this seriously?
Don’t be crazy, Rosenberg. This is the national championship. Of course she’s gonna wait it out. Her best friend’s playing. Wait till it’s over and then run like hell to the park…where she may not even show up.
Or perhaps would have shown up, only to leave when she realized Willow hadn’t been as serious as she was; Willow, who had pleaded her case and then put Tara, put this connection on hold until it was convenient.
She gritted her teeth, desperate for clarity.
And that’s when it hit her: no guarantees; no promises that it would end how she wanted it.
You’re the one who said you wanted to take more risks. And hell, at least she had seen Tennessee win a national championship in her time at Knoxville. UConn--and Faith, and Tara--hadn’t been this close to the brass ring in years. If Tara left, it would be an even greater sacrifice.
She glanced at her watch: 2:52.
Last call for Grand Romantic Gesture Junction, now boarding in the park across the street. She grabbed her jacket, pushed past an incredulous Dawn, and sprinted up the stairs.
[center]
[/center]
So here I am, standing in the middle of a park in a strange city, having left the best women’s basketball game of all time. If Tara didn’t show up, she’d have done it for nothing.
Nothing except knowing I could take a risk.
And then she saw her, a woman that she hadn’t even known existed three days ago, walking toward her. Saw the lopsided grin curving across the beautiful face as she spotted Willow sitting there--waiting for her.
They reached each other and smiled like kids on their birthdays until Willow reached out and pulled Tara close to her.
“We are certifiable,” Tara whispered, shaking her head.
“I think you mentioned that the night we met.”
Suddenly there was a huge roar from the arena. They pulled apart slightly, gazing at the source of all of that frenzy, then turned to look at each other.
“Someone’s very happy right now,” Tara murmured.
Willow cupped Tara’s face in her hands, and then kissed her with a most singular combination of gentleness and hunger.
“We can check out the highlights later.”
[center]
The End[/center]
[center]
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, hilarious 
, naughty 
, romantic 
and definitely 
worthy.
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