Venus Envy by Rita Mae Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

grabbed Frazier’s letter and walked into the living room.
    Assuming the letter would be tender and romantic—well, as romantic as Frazier could muster, which wasn’t much—Ann built a fire in the fireplace. A cold wind whipped outside, reminding her that winter still had power despite the signs of spring.
    She plopped into her favorite wing chair and opened the letter.
    Dear Ann
,
    By the time you read this I shall most likely be dead.
    Ann’s eyes moistened in expectation. She read on.
    I
haven’t given you much in life. Perhaps I can
give
you something in death. The truth.
    You always said you wanted me to love you. I could never figure out if you wanted love or if you wanted unconditional surrender. Obviously, I’m no good at either. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s you, maybe it’s the way most women are raised. You wanted
to
hear about my feelings. You wanted to process our relationship constantly.
    Ann, I didn’t want a relationship that felt like another job. You seem to have more feelings than I do. I like to play golf, read a good book, or go to a movie when I’m not working, even
though
that’s seldom. You got offended when I didn’t send you sweet cards or tell you how lovely you looked or how much I needed you, or whatever it is that
I
didn’t do. Mostly, I didn’t spend enough time with you.
    And the time we spent together we hid. God forbid anyone should know we slept together. We went out in public with escorts. Of course, they’re as gay as we are but the facade must be served. I was worse about this than you, I know.
    You said you’d lose your job at the bank. Maybe you would have and maybe not. Better to lose your job than your integrity. Easy for me to say, I know. I’m dead—almost. What I’m realizing is that I was dead while I breathed, dead to passion, dead to honesty, dead to sharing myself, dead to the pain that life brings us all, but it brings it in such a special, vile little package if one is gay.
    Look, I’m probably not making much sense. I tore that morphine tube out of my arm. I feel awful, like I’m spiralingdownward into some abandoned canyon of anguish. You like people to be articulate and I’m losing it.
    I’ll spare you more of my muddle but let me try to be concise with what I have left in me. You’ll destroy every relationship you have if you aren’t willing to claim that person as worth your time, your body, your soul, etc. I was the wrong person for you but
I
did like you. I do hope you can be happy sometime. Fight for yourself. If you don’t think you can be yourself here, then go to a bigger city. You’ve got a good resume, you’re good-looking, and you’re good at what you do. Lots of goods. Go to New York or Los
Angeles
or Houston. I love New Orleans. Go there. Is there anyone who doesn’t love New Orleans? Just go.
    And remember, you are as sick as you are secret—so get going!
    Love,  
Frazier
    The sound of Ann’s hard breathing filled the room. Finally she gasped, “I will break every bone in her beautiful body!”

10
    T HE RICH GLOW FROM THE MAHOGANY PANELING EMBRACED visitors to Billy Cicero’s office. His silver tennis trophy from the previous year’s country club finals had a place of pride on the mantel. Since he spent more time at work than he did at home, he kept the trophy there.
    Atlantic Tobacco supplied Henrico County and the city of Richmond with thousands of jobs either in the plant itself or in related industries. Zephaniah Cicero, Billy’s great-grandfather, used to say that Atlantic Tobacco’s history was the history of Richmond.
    Each day Billy eased into his jet-black Aston-Martin Volante and drove the forty-five minutes east from his estate in the Green Springs district of Louisa County to Richmond. Some days when his radar detector, illegal in Virginia, told him the coast was clear, he could fly door to door in thirty minutes. He never tired of seeing the Virginia countryside, nor did he ever tire of the tobaccoindustry.