Free Substitute for Love by Karin Kallmaker Page A

her breasts. Is this how other women feel?
    She had no way to solve the equation. The principles of mathematics demanded that an equation be solved by logical reduction, not trial and error. She could not logically approach this question. She could not substitute values when she had no idea of the variables and constants for the equation. It was beyond her mental grasp. But trial and error led to thoughts of Murphy and Tori… Tori and Geena.
    She felt nauseous and grabbed the sink, striving for some semblance of calm.
    The front door opened and closed, and she dug down very, very deep, to pretend. This pretense was far more important than anything she’d had to do before. She smiled at Clay and spoke and watched herself going through the motions of asking after his day and listening to the answer as if she cared.
    While he showered she rooted around in the back of her drawer for lingerie she’d bought years ago, thinking it might… might change the way she felt when Clay touched her. She’d bought it for herself, but Clay had thought she’d meant to titillate him. He had been disappointed with her.
    And like a fool, she railed at herself, you set aside how you felt. She wiggled into the cleavage-creating black bra. It fit since she still had not lost those fifteen pounds she’d been perpetually fighting. Black pantyhose, they had to be there somewhere. She carefully struggled into the hose, then put on the black pantsuit made of raw silk, her one item of evening wear. It had served her well for years at faculty parties and family holidays. They went out so rarely she did not need more, even though tonight she wanted more than she needed.
    She wished she had something shocking red, with hair to match. She wanted to feel alive. The mouse that roared? Yes, she wanted to roar, mouse or not. Her simple haircut offered no real opportunities for change — it was wash and wear so as not to need a blow dryer. Then she remembered her grandmother’s jewelry, the only thing she had of her grandmother’s. The rose pendant and earrings. They would suit her mood.
    Clay did not approve of jewelry. It distracted from the natural state of the human body, was spawned by consumerist notions of appearance and allowed for the casual flaunting of wealth.
    Screw Clay, she thought. Or rather, she admitted, studying herself in the mirror, don’t. And she smiled at her reflection. These pieces weren’t the same thing as a Rolex — these were family heirlooms. They were her heritage, such as it was. She felt self-assured and attractive, and she liked the feeling.
    She watched him come out of the bathroom and felt a surge of the same courage she had found yesterday, facing Jim Felker and his petty bigotry. She could tell him now that she was going to leave him. She almost did. But she would let this idea grow for a little while, to prove it wasn’t a mere brainstorm.
    The last time — had last night been the last time she’d feel him inside her and count the minutes until it was over?
    In life’s equation of what mattered, how had she thought her physical relationship with Clay could substitute for the value of love? How had she thought that was worth bearing? How could she discover what would make her happy, at least physically? Trial and error… Murphy and Tori… Tori and Geena…
    The equation she could not solve seemed to have women as constants. And then she understood at least a piece of the puzzle. She was the variable for now. She was the thing that was changing and would change, until she found her own answers.

4
    What made it hard, from the moment they got in the car, was that Clay was in a good mood. His semester was shaping up with interested students and he’d been asked to co-teach a graduate seminar under the aegis of the department head.
    “I think I might try to get the all-important Ph.D.,” he admitted. “I know it’s just a piece of paper, about what you can research and not what you truly understand, but not