“Okay,” she conceded. “Okay. Ready?”
“Ready,” Prairie answered as she sat up on her bed in anticipation, crossing her legs indian-style.
Em sighed, looked to the ceiling and began to recite a condensed version of her story.
“I was born in Los Angeles and grew up mostly in Bel Air. My mother was a Boston-Irish socialite.” Em looked at Prairie who scowled, confused.
“Old money,” Em explained her interpretation of Boston-Irish socialite. She continued, “My father is a business man and former diplomat from Spain. Both of their families are extremely wealthy, which my parents are as well. Which makes me your classic, poor little rich girl.”
Prairie’s eyes opened wide.
“I went to mostly private schools—for a few years I went to a boarding school in Boston—until high school. I went right from high school into the Air Force. My parents were not happy about that—they had other, unpalatable, plans for me.”
Prairie cocked her head.
“They wanted to marry me off to someone who would improve the family name and standing, despite the fact it really wasn’t necessary,” Em said, rolling her eyes. “So, when I defied them, when I went off and did my own thing, they essentially disowned me. Not technically, but they may as well have.
“Then, in the Air Force, I was stationed at San Vito Air Base in Italy after tech school for two years. Then I was rotated to the Base Information Office at Goodfellow in San Angelo in Texas. I… I made mistakes and… I was in a terrible accident on the Fourth of July. People died, I was injured, and I ended up here. Okay?”
Prairie didn’t speak as she let Em’s story sink in. “Wow,” she said. “You’re not shittin’ me?”
Em shook her head.
“And you’re rich?”
Em scoffed. “My parents are rich.”
“Oh. But still, wow. That’s a helluva story, Em.” Prairie let it all absorb, but the one name she hoped to learn more about hadn’t even been mentioned. “But um, you didn’t mention… who’s Alice?”
“Alice?” Em stiffened.
“Yeah, you say her name in your sleep pretty much every night—talk to her even—but you’ve never, ever mentioned her. Not to me. Did you know her there? Or before the military? I mean…”
“I met Alice in Texas,” Em interrupted. “We were roommates, then best friends and then…” Em paused as she deliberated mentally how much to share, then figured there probably was no safer place to tell the truth. “We were lovers.”
At least one looming question about Em was answered. Lovers. Ah, Em liked women.
“It ended badly,” Em continued, leaving out the crucial part about Alice dying after the accident, “so… I don’t want to talk about her anymore, okay?”
“Apparently you do, ‘cause…” Prairie stopped herself. She didn’t want to antagonize Em who had just shared more in five minutes than she had in months. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
Em began to read her book again as Prairie processed everything Em had shared. “San Vito, eh? That’s um… Security Service, right?”
“Uh huh, and so is Goodfellow, but it’s a training facility.” It was a distinction Em felt she needed to make clear, even though all she wanted to do was read her book.
“Cool. Well, what was Italy like? I was in England for two years and it was busy and cold. But I still loved it.”
“It was a great base,” Em said with great fondness, though she stuck to the bare minimum in disseminating information. “There was so much to do, and see, and write about. Made my job easy. I hated leaving.”
“And then you went to Goodfellow?”
Em closed her book with resignation—it was clear Prairie was not going to leave her alone. “Yep. That was a culture shock. I hated it when I first got there.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was so ugly and dusty, but it grew on me after a while. In a completely different way, though. I think it was the people versus a place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, San Vito, and Italy in general, was a place that had such a great beauty and an interesting personality of its own, history, which is what I fell in love with. But it was the people at Goodfellow that made that place tolerable. It… it just ended… it was an unhappy ending.”
How long before she could move forward with her life without having to dredge up the horrible feelings she felt whenever she had to think or talk about Goodfellow?
“Thank you,” Prairie said softly as she watched Em struggle internally. There was so much more she wanted to know, but sensed that even divulging the little she did was difficult for Em. Prairie drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She was happy to know more about Em and her life, but the more she learned about Em, the more her feelings grew for her—frustrating her to no end.
FOURTEEN
The Last Dance
14.1—'Taters
Top 40 tunes played in the background from a clock radio that sat on top of the refrigerator. Gwen busily prepared dinner while she visited with Em who sat in her wheelchair at the kitchen table. It had been about three weeks since Em’s move into the house, yet she still felt almost like a visitor. Gwen was always warm toward her, as were the others, making sure to include Em in household activities as much as possible, but she was still getting used to the new environment. Change was not easy for Em.
“I wish… I could help you,” Em said.
“You can.” Gwen walked over to the kitchen table in the eating alcove with a bowl of raw potatoes with another bowl beneath it. “You know how to peel potatoes?” she asked.
“Um, yes, I… I’ve done it before—a long time ago,” Em replied.
“Well, here,” Gwen said as she set the bowls on the table, separating them for Em. “Give it a go. Just put the peels in this one.” Gwen smiled warmly. “Not much you can do wrong peeling a potato.”
“Okay.” Em maneuvered her chair so she could reach the bowl. She removed the small paring knife Gwen had stuck into one of the potatoes and clumsily began peeling.
“Actually, I should take that back,” Gwen chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. “When I was a teenager, I was visiting with my next door neighbor while she made dinner. The second she started peeling potatoes I almost fell off the chair!” she laughed heartily. She pulled a large pot out of a cupboard under the counter and walked it over to Em.
Em cocked her head quizzically as Gwen placed the pot on the table.
“Her version of peeling a potato was basically turning every potato into a rectangle. Shocked—you can just imagine, right?—I asked, ‘what are you doing?’ and she admitted she hated peeling potatoes because it was so tedious and took too long.” Gwen shook her head with amusement. “She could have fed three more kids with what she threw out. My momma would have kicked her butt if she were in her kitchen.”
Em smiled as she carefully peeled her potato, getting more comfortable with each peel—she desperately wanted to impress Gwen. Since moving into the house, Em had grown fond of both Barbie and Gwen, but particularly Gwen, and enjoyed spending time with her. Gwen never expected her to engage in too much conversation, doing most of the talking herself, which was just fine with Em.
At thirty-two, Gwen was the oldest member of the household, with Barbie two years younger. Next came Prairie, who was twenty-six, then Macie, who was only six months younger than Prairie. Aside from Em, Chip was the youngest of the household at not quite twenty-one. Em thought of Barbie and Gwen as the true adults in the household. They were what Em often thought of as probably the last generation of their kind—the generation born during, or just after WWII, right on the cusp of the hippie, free love, generation.
“How are you settling in, honey? You starting to feel a bit more comfortable here?” Gwen asked as she began to prepare two whole chickens for frying. “I know as a group we’re a lot to take in.” She picked up one of the chicken carcasses and began rinsing it under the faucet.
“Um, good,” she fibbed just a little. �
��It’s nice. It’s way better than the hospital. Um… thank you, so much—”
“Aw, that’s nice.” Gwen shot Em a warm smile. “We sure are glad you agreed to move in. I know everyone loves having you here, especially Prairie.”
Em continued peeling her potatoes quietly, wondering why especially Prairie.
“You two have any plans tonight? If not, Barbie, Macie and I are going to the movies, if you guys want to come along.” The moment she asked, Gwen remembered that Prairie had plans to go out for the evening to go on the prowl. She wanted to kick herself.
“Um, I think Prairie has plans,” Em said softly. “I’m just going to stay in and maybe read a book. It was a pretty hard week in PT, so…”
“You’re welcome to come along with us. I don’t know what we’re going to see—it’s between Midnight Express or Days of Heaven—but it would be nice if you joined us.” Gwen hated the idea of Em staying by herself at the house. Part of the reason Prairie wanted her to move in was so she could socialize more. It didn’t seem right to just leave her home alone.
“Oh, um… I don’t know…” Em was conflicted. She didn’t realize she would be home all by herself once Prairie went out. When Prairie told Em she had plans to go out, Em didn’t really mind because she somehow thought she could hang out with Gwen and Barbie or Macie. It never occurred to her that she would be left on her own.
“You don’t have to decide now. See how you feel after dinner. You’re completely welcome.” Gwen was beginning to think they should reconsider the movie if Em chose not to come along. She’d have to have a conversation with Barbie when she got home from work. Maybe they could play board games or something.
“Thank you, Gwen,” Em said, wishing she could just say yes, but she felt resistant about going to the movies in her wheelchair. The three roommates would have to help her with everything from getting in and out of the car, to getting into the movie seat and even going to the restroom. She wasn’t comfortable enough with them for that.
“How are you doing with the ‘taters?”
“Almost done. One more to go.”
“Really?” Gwen grinned as she walked over to the table. “You should hang out with me at mealtime more often! You’re fast,” Gwen said as she inspected the peeled potatoes. “And you did a really great job!” She laughed as Em smiled to herself, feeling a little bashful. “My neighbor could have used you as an inspiration.”
Gwen picked up the pot full of peeled potatoes as Em placed the last one on top and carried it to the sink. She began to rinse the pot of potatoes with water. “These are really beautifully peeled, Em. You’re hired, girl!”
Em beamed at Gwen’s approval. Bob Dylan’s iconic song, Like A Rolling Stone, began to play on the radio.
Gwen tilted her head toward the radio. “Ooh, I love this song! I haven’t heard it for a long time. Mind if I turn it up a little?”
Em shook her head with a smile. It was one of her favorites, too.
14.2—On the Prowl
“What’s for dinner, girls?” Prairie asked as she strode into the kitchen from the back way, causing Em to turn her body in her chair at the sound of Prairie’s voice.
Prairie was freshly showered and dressed for a night on the town—and was positively glowing, as far as Em was concerned. She was a little jealous that Prairie was going out, leaving her all by herself at the house—on a Saturday night no less. Em knew that Prairie had sacrificed a lot over the last several weeks taking care of her, and greatly appreciated her for it, but still couldn’t help feeling a little bit of separation anxiety after being with Prairie practically non-stop.
“Speaking of rolling stones,” Gwen said as she winked at Em. “My, my… don’t you look dapper.”
Boots, jeans and a tucked in long-sleeve shirt was Prairie’s costume de rigueur for going out—her civilian uniform. Having spent many years in the Air Force and then working at the hospital wearing scrubs, she preferred the simplicity of the uniform concept. It suited her. Her trademark Yves Saint Laurent Opium perfume filled the kitchen with its earthy, spicy scent. It was the first time Prairie had worn Opium around Em. Against her will, Prairie’s favorite perfume was subtly seducing Em, swiftly becoming the scent that would, without fail, start a fire down below—it was intoxicatingly seductive.
“We’re making mashed potatoes,” Gwen winked at Em, “fried chicken, gravy and creamed corn. I think a little side salad will be nice, too. Whaddya think, Em?”
“Sure.”
“You going to join us, Prair?” Gwen asked.
“Naw, I’m going to head out in a bit, but I bet it’s going to be yummers,” Prairie admitted, wondering if she should stay and eat before going out partying.
“You sure you don’t want to come to the movies with us girls, Prairie? It’ll be way more fun than some boring club,” Gwen said as she dipped chicken parts into flour before plopping them into the electric skillet. Gwen knew she should just leave well enough alone, but she really felt bad for Em and hoped Prairie would stay home with her.
“I’m sure, Lovey,” Prairie answered, but she knew she wasn’t.
Prairie grimaced, not wanting to discuss her night out with Em in the room. As her fondness for Em grew, she became more and more uncomfortable just being around her. She loved being near Em all the time, but that was the problem, and growing more so by the day. Was it love? Was it lust? Prairie couldn’t say for sure, but whatever it was, it was becoming uncomfortable—painful, even. She hoped that going out and resuming her old routine would cure her longing, or whatever it was she had for Em. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be the answer to problem. The bottom line was, she had to do something. Going out had always been her modus operandi in the past, and she was anxious to get back to it.
14.3—Parking Lot Blues
The drive over to West Hollywood and her favorite girl bar, Peanuts, should have been exhilarating, as it always had been in the past—the anticipation of conquest, the excitement of the impending hunt—but all Prairie felt was dread. She never dreaded going out. Sitting in her car in the parking lot, without the familiar surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she considered turning around and going home.
Parked in a space reserved for the French Quarter Marketplace next door, Prairie sat and watched the ebb and flow of nightclubbers of all shapes and descriptions—leather clad, sporty, Preppy, Goth, suburban, and everything in-between, including gay men and straight couples—hoping a spark would ignite and propel her into the bar. The longer she sat, the less she was compelled to get out of the car, and the more she wanted to just go home and hang out with Em.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” she asked herself. Prairie sighed. “I should be in there scoping out chicks, dancing, flirting, and on my way to getting laid! Gah!”
She knew she shouldn’t have allowed her emotions to get away from her with Em, but the circumstances made it almost impossible since they’d become roommates. The stronger and healthier Em got, the more irresistible she became. She had a really sweet personality—when she wasn’t being a jerk about PT—she was smart, a little funny, and a damned knockout. In the end, Em’s eyes were Prairie’s undoing. Who has eyes like that? Prairie often asked herself whenever Em would give her the doe-eyed look, her incredible green eyes practically boring right through to Prairie’s soul.
“Just get in there!” Prairie admonished herself. “You going to sit in this stupid car all night? You’ve got to go in, and then everything will go back to normal. You’ll be back to your old self, Em will be just someone you take care of and it’ll be a-okay. Right?” Prairie sighed again. “And now, not only am I talking to myself, but I’m asking myself questions. Just great.”
Prairie leaned forward and placed her forehead on the steering wheel, shaking her head with resignation. After several minutes, she sat up abruptly and said, “Let’s do this!” as she opened the car door and leapt out.
The whole way across the parking lot to the bar, P
rairie repeated out loud, “Let’s do this, let’s do this, let’s do this,” trying desperately to pump herself up to the task at hand—but it wasn’t working.
14.4—Peanuts
Just inside the entrance to Peanuts, Prairie was greeted by a heavily tattooed young woman in her early twenties with jet black spiked hair and a large silver ring in her nose. Her eyes were heavily made up with thick black eyeliner, and her ears were covered in silver metal rings and studs, pierced every way possible. Standing behind a card table with a cash box, tasked with collecting a five dollar cover, she greeted Prairie with surprise.
“Fuckin’ A! Hey girl! Where the fuck you been? We thought you were fuckin’ dead!”
“Hey Sable,” Prairie smiled half-heartedly. “Clearly not dead,” Prairie said as she looked past Sable into the bar where a driving disco beat pounded from within.
“Where you been, man? Girls keep askin’ for you, and I just tell ‘em, ‘fuck if I know!’” Sable laughed. “They were all like, maybe she fuckin’ U-Hauled with some bitch, but I was like, Prairie Dog? No fuckin’ way!”
Prairie sighed, hating that stupid nickname. She pulled her wallet out of her back pocket, but was quickly admonished by Sable. “What the fuck, Prairie? You know you don’t pay. Get the fuck in there, bitch!” Sable encouraged Prairie with a playful, high voice. As Prairie walked through the door, Sable slapped her on the butt and said, “Go get ‘em, Dog!”
Walking into the bar, Prairie was filled not with excitement as in the past, but with varying shades of angst. The exchange at the door was repulsive to her, though it was the same exchange verbatim practically every time she’d come to the bar in the last year. The loud music was irritating, and the potentially available women she happened to walk by were not in the least interesting to her. None of them were Em.
“I think I need a drink,” she muttered to herself, heading to the bar. The nightclub was crowded already, making her progress slow. She weeded her way through the groups of young women, out for a night of fun and maybe, hopefully, sex, and the too-cool straight patrons who thought they were avant-garde for frequenting a lesbian/gay bar.
Prairie Fire Page 21