She Wanted It All - Kathryn Casey [74]
At BookPeople, Tracey’s staff had come to recognize Celeste, coming and going from the store. When she was in Austin on the weekends, she dropped by often, stopping on the fourth floor, where she’d walk into Tracey’s office and close the door. Often, Celeste called. If someone were with her, Tracey waved them off and closed the door behind them. None doubted that the two women were lovers.
Twice a year Tracey threw a party for her managers. In the past it had always been at her house on Wilson, a casual affair consisting of deli trays and a keg of beer. The talk was about books and concerts, and the mood relaxed. In July, Tracey told Celeste she planned to throw a summer party, and Celeste had an idea.
“Let’s do it at the lake house, and I’ll do it for you,” she said.
Tracey wasn’t sure; a full thirty-five miles from Austin, without speeding, it took nearly an hour down winding roads to get there, and after dark the turns were easy to miss. But Celeste insisted, and Tracey gave in.
Invitations went out announcing: “Tracey’s ‘Fashion-Victim Party,’ Come dressed in your fashion don’t and spend the evening laughing and cavorting with your coworkers. Friday, July 9, 1999, at the Beard Retreat, 101 Bedford Drive, Spicewood, TX.” It was an odd fit for a group that cared more about literature than fashion, but Tracey didn’t question Celeste’s concept. Spending thousands, Celeste hired a caterer, a bartender, and even a photographer. Guests arrived early that evening, and the first found Celeste and Tracey dressing. Another walked in a bedroom and discovered the two women kissing. Without saying a word, she backed out of the room.
Music blared and the hot tub churned as the bartender served drinks and waiters passed trays of hors d’oeuvres. Earlier in the week Celeste had asked Tracey to arrange for one of the women to bring marijuana brownies, even giving her money to pay for the marijuana. When they arrived, she took the plate and placed it on the table with the other food. Fueled by the pot, Celeste was in a grandiose mood. That night, Cindy Light, the same photographer who’d shot pictures at Steve and Celeste’s open house on Toro Canyon, snapped photos of Celeste on Tracey’s lap, a vodka in one hand and a brownie in the other, along with pictures of the two women dancing, nuzzling, and kissing.
About eleven, Tracey and Celeste walked into the master bedroom and locked the door. As their guests partied outside, Celeste whispered, “After Steve’s dead, we can live here together and wake up together each morning.”
It was something Tracey dreamed of: to live freely with the woman she loved.
The crowd had already cleared out the following morning when Kristina and Justin arrived to clean up, as Celeste had ordered. The tables were covered with half-full glasses and overflowing ashtrays. The bedroom door was locked and the house quiet. Wanting to wake Celeste, they opened and closed doors, but heard no one stir, so they left and drove to a convenience store to buy breakfast burritos they ate next to the lake. When they returned, the bedroom door was unlocked. Appearing to be naked under the covers, Tracey and Celeste lay together in bed, their heads touching. Silently, the teens left the room.
Minutes later Celeste and Tracey emerged, Celeste laughing about the party. “I can’t believe I ate all those pot brownies,” she said.
There’d been other indications that summer that the relationship between the two women wasn’t platonic, but Kristina hadn’t wanted to address them. Even the sight of them in bed which she’d seen before, was something she refused to consider. But the night they went to a movie together, she was once again confronted with it.
That evening, she and Justin went with Tracey and Celeste to see The Love Letter, directed by the actress Kate