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photojournalist. When it became clear she was to be relegated to a secretary for other male officers and photographers, she began to reconsider. And there was Tru. Without the focus of pursuing photojournalism, her thoughts wandered to the young woman who had disarmed her so completely with a mellow voice and dancing eyes. In a moment of careless whimsy, that sprang from still-another insult about her place in the pecking order, Brittany had confessed her sexuality to her platoon sergeant, and was summarily released under a general discharge.
    A week later, she had appeared on Tru’s doorstep.
     
    4
    THE PLUNK AND RATTLE OF A BROKEN GUITAR STRING stopped the music. Tru and Helki stared at each other in vexed silence.
    “That’s the second one,” she grumbled to Helki, grabbing the flailing string and unwrapping it from the post on the headstock. “I need to go back to the Adamas strings. These keep breaking.”
    Helki smiled, “Maybe we should break, too,” while leaning her bass against the wall of the modest home recording studio.
    “That’s cute,” Tru acknowledged the pun, put her guitar in the stand and switched off the 16 track digital recorder. Together, they wandered into the kitchen, having smelled the aroma of baked chicken spaghetti. Brittany poured them all some wine and served dinner.
    “So, how’s the recording session going?” Brittany used tongs to transfer salad to Helki’s plate.
    Helki poured a generous amount of poppy-seed dressing on the green leaf lettuce. “I think it sounds great. I love Tru’s music, or I wouldn’t have left the Heads.”
    As an opening act for a band almost two years ago, Tru had stayed to listen to the headliners, a rock group called The Hard Heads. The bassist was Helki Sky. At the close of the first set, Tru had asked the waitress to give Helki the drink of her choice, along with a note she had written on a napkin that read simply, “You rock.” When the waitress pointed her out, Helki had smiled and brought the wine over to Tru’s table.
    The two women became fast friends. Helki soon left The Hard Heads, assuring Tru that she had been looking for a good excuse in the form of another band who played music more to her
    liking; and, she added, a band that didn’t dabble in drugs and get drunk every night. Before long, the two women were taking part in various jam sessions around town, or doing duets in local pubs, all booked by Macy.
    The daughter of a Miwok Indian Father and an Italian mother, Helki’s given name meant “touch.” Aptly, as Tru realized, she did indeed have the touch. Helki never forgot a groove, and her mane of dark hair, highlighted by two tiny braids in the front, bounced as she danced around the stage. Helki always held a knowing smile, and her music soared. “Sky” was also apropos as her last name. Her music touched the sky.
    “Tru—” Brit started, filling her own wine. “When did Macy say you guys would start touring again?”
    “Soon,” she answered, sucking an errant string of pasta into her mouth. “She’s still pounding out the details. We’ll do some local stuff first, push the new CD. But it should be within a month or so. I think the trip to Seattle next week will provide some insight.” She saw the disappointment in her lover’s eyes. “You could go with us.”
    “Yeah,” Helki agreed. “You could keep her in line.”
    Brittany’s answering expression spoke of doubt and amusement, before she continued. “There’s no one to take care of the house and the horses.”
    “I could hire someone to do that.”
    “Yeah,” Helki agreed. “Be the official photographer for the band. The other pictures you took at shows were great.”
    “I think I would only be in the way.” Brittany sighed. “I don’t think Macy wants me there.”
    “I want you there, Baby. Don’t worry about Macy.”
    Helki nibbled off one section of rind from a cucumber slice, then ate the meat of it in one bite, discarding the remaining