Free Coming Together: With Pride by Alessia Brio

fame.
    Paulette wondered briefly whether Robin's translations could be trusted. But as far as she knew, he had no reason to make anything up.
    Emily's behavior had been sadly predictable: Now see what you've done . She had wanted to be remembered with Christabel for some great act of rebellion against the patriarchal order, but Christabel had deserted her. The loyal Mary had gone with Emily to the Derby, apparently having no idea what Emily was planning to do.
    A girlish image of Christabel's younger sister Sylvia flashed into Paulette's mind. Sylvia had been a socialist who helped set up clinics for poor mothers and their babies, the embryo version of Britain's national health care system. If Emily had grown bored with Mary, why hadn't she developed a crush on Sylvia, who was clearly a better choice?
    Paulette answered her own question: Because passion has never been based on logic. Shared principles are the excuse for a relationship, not the spark that sets hearts afire. Good populist values don't even sway voters. Not without some darker, more visceral hook.
    Paulette was troubled. Like the heroine of Coleridge's poem of the same name, Christabel had given an impression of guileless generosity. She even seemed to convince herself that her intentions were noble, but her effect on other people always had a whiff of brimstone in it.
    Paulette thought about Christabel's legendary sense of guilt. Before reading her letters to Emily, Paulette had blamed Christabel's over-privileged European husband for infecting her with feminine self-blame.
    After Emily's death, Christabel and Henri, the Compte and Comptesse de Mille-Chevres, had toured Europe and North America, holding religious rallies at which they harangued their audiences to beg God for forgiveness for their sins. Christabel had never publicly named hers, but she had encouraged all her followers to take on her tormented conscience.
    Paulette knew that Christabel's brand of Christianity had never been popular in Europe, where it had morphed into a secular political movement which promoted liberal causes. The original self-flagellating fervor of Christabel's cult had survived only in southern California, where Christabel had settled after the death of her husband, and where she was buried.
    Like vultures circling over a desert, Paulette's thoughts came back to the possibility of assassins waiting for Margaret at the Derby. Even if they're out there , thought Paulette, I can't stop them by showing up exhausted after worrying all night . She decided that snuggling up to Margaret would be the best way to fall asleep quickly.
    Paulette placed the manuscript back in her suitcase, turned off the lamp, and snuck back into the bedroom. The sight of Margaret, sprawled on the bed in innocent nakedness, filled her with relief. Paulette climbed beside her and pressed herself spoon-fashion into Margaret's firm buttocks and gracefully-curved back.
    Margaret was snoring gently, but sparks of energy seemed to shoot into Paulette's belly and crotch from Margaret's hot bottom. Paulette ran her hands slowly down the smooth, inviting skin. The scent of Margaret's sweat filled Paulette's nose.
      Buns, bums, arses, or tushes were supposedly a focal point for the lust of gay men. An unwelcome image of Reginald flashed into Paulette's mind. She couldn't help wondering what, or whom, he really wanted aside from a return to laissez-faire capitalism. But then, commerce wasn't always separate from sex. Au contraire. Paulette imagined a hard-faced young man, thin as a whip, coiled around Reggie-boy with one patronizing arm around Reggie's shoulders and the other searching his clothing for a wallet. The young man, who might not be old enough to vote, was an updated version of an Artful Dodger from the mean streets of Victorian London.
    Paulette realized that she didn't know much about the culture of urban, nouveau-riche Englishmen with a taste for other men. She knew the history of a few flamboyant