Party Wall

by Cheyenne Blue

  Why had she said that? Where was her verbal Delete key when she needed it? Now Freya would think it was a come-on, a hint as broad and wide as the Pioneer River, as unsubtle as a road map to her bed. Freya had made it perfectly obvious she was not in the market for a girlfriend. Indeed, to Lily’s untrained eye, she still seemed to be grieving her dead partner. She cast around for a subject change. “How do you find that brand of Assam tea? I’m not too fond of the one I’ve been getting, but it’s all they stock in the store here.” Great. She’d just dug herself a deeper hole. Now Freya would think she was angling for an invitation for—

  “I get it in Mackay. Would you like a cup?”

  “Thanks, but I won’t hold you up. Maybe I could take a bag with me to try?”

  “It’s no trouble. I was about to have another one anyway. You’ll be doing me a favour. If you stay for a cup, you’ll be keeping me from my accounts, and that’s a good thing.”

  “In that case, I’d love one.”

  Freya flicked the switch on the kettle and found another mug. They waited for the kettle to boil in silence, but it wasn’t an awkward one. It was the sort of accord between people who, whilst they may not be friends, had moved beyond the inane chatter that strangers employ to fill silences.

  When Freya had made the tea, Lily followed her out to the balcony. The afternoon was warm, the heat making the hills on the far side of the flat shimmer with the blue haze of eucalyptus. Dorcas appeared, made a beeline for Lily, and stepped onto her lap with delicate paws. Once she’d curled into a ball, her purrs rumbled like Queensland Rail.

  “Have you heard from Carly since our dinner?” Lily stroked along Dorcas’s spine with one finger, smiling at how the cat undulated under her touch.

  “She called the next day to apologise for falling asleep.” Freya took a sip of tea and her gaze flicked sideways to Lily. “And to hope I hadn’t taken offence at being thrown together with you.”

  Lily’s breath caught in her throat. Of all the things she thought Freya would say, she never thought she would even acknowledge Carly’s matchmaking. “What did you say?”

  “I made her sweat.” Amusement rippled through Freya’s voice. “I said she knew my thoughts on dating and relationships very well, and I would appreciate it if she honoured them.”

  The heavy weight of disappointment that settled in Lily’s belly took her by surprise. Freya had made her lack of physical need very clear—so why did her comment feel so personal?

  “I let her off the hook. I said it was no big deal.” Lightness and humour hummed in Freya’s voice. “But I told her again that my path was a spiritual one.”

  “And mine is grounded in physicality. My body, my skin. I’m surprised Carly even thought we would be interested in each other in that way.”

  Freya shrugged. “Just because she doesn’t know many lesbians, she assumes there are not many around. In fact, this little town has more than the 10 percent average, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’ve met a few, and there’s plenty of rainbow flags around town. I should ask you to introduce me around.”

  “From what I’ve already heard, you’re finding your way just fine by yourself.”

  Lily stored that information away. Janie, she presumed. It made sense. A small town, a smaller lesbian community. To answer seemed to be asking for trouble, leading the conversation in a direction she wasn’t sure she wanted it to go.

  “How long have you had Dorcas?” she asked instead.

  “Seven years. She was a wee ball of fluff abandoned in a back alley in Mackay. Sarah found her just after we got together. Someone had put her in a garbage bag and tied it up tightly. It was a stinking hot day, and Sarah heard her faint cries as she walked past. She got her out and took her home. At first, we weren’t sure she would make it.”

  Lily petted the cat’s soft fur. “She’s lucky.”

  “We were lucky too. She’s been a loving companion.”

  The tea was cooling. Lily swallowed a couple of mouthfuls. “I better go. I left a half-prepared cake on the bench. I should get back and finish it.” She nudged Dorcas gently until the cat took the hint and unwound herself from Lily’s lap. “Thank you for the tea, and the pine nuts.”

  “I can get you some of that tea the next time I’m in Mackay, if you’d like.”

  “I would. Thank you.”

  Then there seemed to be nothing to say. Lily led the way downstairs and out through Freya’s shop to the porch. The afternoon shade cast Freya into shadows as she stood in the doorway.

  Lily turned towards her. The muted colour of Freya’s clothes blended into the darkness of the shop, turning her into a mysterious thing of shade and shadow. Then she moved forwards, out to the footpath, and her wiry curls caught the light, turning it into a spun cage of sunshine.

  Freya touched the drooping leaf of one of her plants. “I’ll have to water these.”

  The line of her arm had an elegance Lily hadn’t associated with her down-to-earth neighbour. Her gaze traced the lean shape down to where Freya’s long fingers with their short, blunt nails, traced the leaf with care.

  Her words came with an effort. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll bring you some cake in the morning.”

  The afternoon had lost some of its allure. Lily added the pine nuts to the cake and baked it to perfection, then made pasta for dinner. But the meal wasn’t as enjoyable when eaten alone, and the glass of wine she allowed herself was uninteresting in her mouth. She tipped it out and poured a glass of water instead. Sarah had likened water to fine wine. If she was as discerning in her choice of partner as she was with water, then Freya and she must have been good together.

  She took the water out onto the balcony and propped her feet on the low table as she stared down the street. The water tasted fresh and cool. Lily rolled it around in her mouth, tasting it as if it were wine. Is this how Sarah had done it, she wondered? Sipping and enjoying?

  Freya had said she and Sarah were together for seven years. Three years longer than Lily and Inga had been partners. Lily rested her head on the back of the couch. Inga sprung into her mind, her slim body with the deepest, darkest brown eyes. Their years together rolled through Lily’s head in a flickering cinematic parade of moments: the day they’d met, sharing a table at a local coffee shop. The first kiss. Their first time in bed, and that slow, soft exploration of lovemaking. They hadn’t left the bed all day, except to pee and to raid the fridge for snacks and wine. They had moved in together three weeks later, after finding a flat together in a subdivided Victorian terrace house in inner Sydney. Inga grew herbs on the windowsill. Lily mastered the cranky old oven and started baking. Their lives had stitched together so easily that, looking back, Lily remembered only the times of joy and contentment.

  And now, here she was by herself in a small town light years from Sydney. She sipped her water slowly, and the bitter taste of aloneness clung to the back of her throat.

  She missed it. Not just Inga, who would forever hold a piece of her heart, but the closeness that comes with loving someone and being loved in return.

  Her mouth twisted wryly. If many of the women who knew her in Grasstree Flat were privy to her thoughts, they’d probably think she’d sold out to suburbia. But whilst she loved the sexual freedom and playfulness being single offered, if the right woman came along, if she fell in love again, if the woman loved her…

  Lily set her water on the table. Was there a woman for her, here in Grasstree Flat? There was Janie, and she knew of other lesbians here.

  And there was Freya.

  Chapter 10

  Freya nodded to Lily as she took what was now her usual spot near the back. Lily laid out her mat, said a few words to the woman next to her, and stood straight and tall, waiting for the yoga class to begin. This time, she wore a cherry-red top with purple leggings, which were so b
right that even when Freya looked away, she saw the flash of colour on the edge of her vision.

  Lily’s earlier awkwardness was gone as she moved through the poses. She had settled back into what was obviously a long-time activity. Freya had hoped to catch her at the end of the class to thank her for the cake that had been left in a container on her doorstep the morning after Lily had borrowed the pine nuts. The cake had been incredible; a creamy blend of unusual flavours that melded seamlessly together. The morning after that, there had been a bag of pine nuts on the step. Why Lily hadn’t rung the bell, Freya didn’t know, but she shrugged it off.

  But when Lily slipped through the door back to her shop with a smile at the end of class, Freya realised the missed opportunity to compliment her on the cake.

  Carly waited for her. “Well? Are you coming?”

  Freya lifted an eyebrow. “To what? Coffee?”

  “No. Lily’s class. It’s the first one this afternoon. She’s closing an hour early today. Exploring Your Feminine Sensuality. C’mon, Frey. Come with me.”

  “I’ve already said no.” She softened her words with a smile. “It’s not my thing.”

  “Lily attends your class. You could support her; she’s new in town.”

  “It’s not a tit-for-tat thing. And from what I’ve heard, there will be a few people there. She doesn’t need me. And I’d have to close early too.”

  “Lily might not need you, but I do.” Carly’s voice was a pathetic whine. “Maybe I’m too nervous to go alone.”

  “Maybe you’re not. You’re the one banging on about this class.”

  “Okay, so I’m not nervous. I’m looking forwards to it. But it would be good if you were there.” A sly peep from under her eyelashes. “You might learn something.”

  “I’m sure I would. Whether I need that knowledge is another thing entirely.”

  Carly heaved a sigh. “Final answer?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll tell you what it’s like.”

  “If you must.”

  Carly’s expression sobered. “Okay. I won’t go on about it. Now, do you have time for coffee?”

  “Coffee and breakfast. Of course.” She squeezed Carly’s hand. “Lead on, Mata Hari.”

  “Ohhhhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhh! Oh, yes, yes, yes!” The jubilant cries ended on a high keening note. Freya closed her eyes momentarily and clenched the pen in her hand. For once, she was actually grateful there were no customers in her shop to overhear the sounds coming through the thin walls from the studio. The yoga studio. Or the writing workshop. But whatever it was, it was for quiet, inward pursuits. Not this loud expression of faked sexual pleasure.

  Mercifully, the woman on the far side of the wall fell silent. Now Freya heard the rise and fall of Lily’s tones, then the ripple of laughter from the participants. Her teeth ached from gritting them, and her body was rigid from holding in the need to storm into the yoga studio and shout at everyone to be quiet. That pleasure was private, even the artificial noises of imaginary pleasure Lily seemed to be teaching her class. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t need to hear it.

  She relaxed her posture, reached for her water bottle and took a deep drink, and returned to her orders.

  “I want it all. I want it now.” The low chant pulsed through the wall. The voices were rhythmic, increasing in volume. “I want it all. I want it now.” The chant rose until it was a shout.

  Freya threw down the pen. The noise was intrusive, impossible to block out. She rose and moved to the front of the shop and started rearranging a display of silver earrings. Here was blessed silence. But then a low moan rose in pitch like that of a dying whale. Even here, she couldn’t escape. She returned to the rear of the shop and turned on her music streaming, picking a channel that was louder and more vibrant than the soothing tunes she normally chose.

  But she could still hear the chanting when it resumed, an undercurrent of annoyance even over the Aussie rock coming from her speakers. She glanced at her watch. It would be time to close in fifteen minutes. With luck, there would be no customers in the meantime. But this couldn’t be permitted; Lily’s class was disrupting her business. Freya turned up the volume on the streaming service. It was now so loud, she didn’t hear the Indian chimes that signalled a customer had entered the shop, and it was only the flash of movement near the front that caught her eye. Freya gritted her teeth. It was Brigid, one of her most irritating—and demanding—customers.

  “Hello, what can I help you with today?”

  Brigid’s mouth was turned down in a moue of distaste. “Some of the sage cleansing sticks I got last time.”

  Freya moved the single step necessary to get the sage from the shelf.

  “And the rosemary-and-mint soap.”

  Another single step in the other direction.

  “I hope this music isn’t always going to be playing. I always thought this was a tasteful, refined shop. Not like the monstrosity next door.”

  Freya smiled. “I’m simply trying out a new channel. I’m not too fond of it, either.” Even though she was tempted to complain about Lily’s shop, this whinging old biddy was not to be encouraged.

  “Good. It doesn’t entice me to stay and browse. Now that lovely Norah Jones… She knows how to carry a tune.”

  Freya’s mouth made the appropriate polite smile as she carried Brigid’s purchases over to the counter.

  A low moan came from the yoga room. It rose in pitch then fell silent. Brigid cocked her head. “Is someone else using your yoga room?”

  “There’s a class on.”

  “A new instructor. How nice. I shall have to take a look sometime. I never liked your yoga. Not enough consideration for older women and our bad joints.”

  Freya’s lips tightened. The couple of times Brigid had come to a beginners’ class, she had made no attempt to join in, merely stood there complaining loudly that she couldn’t do the movements. Movements she wouldn’t even attempt.

  The streaming service stuttered in mid-song as the signal was interrupted. A quiet buzzing reached Freya’s ears through the thin wall. It intensified for a moment, before shutting off. She drew a quick breath. She knew what a vibrator sounded like; she just hoped her customer didn’t.

  In the silence that followed, Lily’s voice came clearly through the wall. “Choosing a vibrator is a very personal experience. Don’t assume they are all the same. Intensity, speed, power, shape, all play a part. Even how it feels in your hand.”

  “Only your hand?” Another voice—Carly’s.

  The smile was evident in Lily’s voice. “Not only in your hand. But adult shops can’t let you return a vibrator once it has been used. I’m sure you can understand why. But we encourage you to fondle…”

  Her voice trailed off as she must have moved further from the wall. Freya met Brigid’s horrified gaze. “Really, Freya. I’m disappointed you let that sort of thing in your studio.”

  “It’s a shared space with the shop next door.”

  “But Diane never used it.”

  Freya shrugged. “But she could have done. It’s purely for use as a workshop space.” A twist of her mind recognised the irony of defending Lily, however roundabout. But the woman in front of her, with her pinched lips and closed mind, reminded her of her teenage years, coming out in a middling-sized town in a strait-laced state in rural Australia. The disapproval she’d encountered then was echoed in the prim stance of the woman in front of her now. If she closed her eyes, she was sure Brigid would flash in front of them, her face transposed onto any of the disapproving teachers, parents, and other adults who’d tried to tell her that her sexuality—and by extension, herself—was wrong.

  She smiled a genuine smile. “A Woman’s Pleasure has a lot to offer all of us. They have a very colourful range of cushions and throws you might l
ike.” She neglected to mention that those same soft furnishings were emblazoned with stylistic depictions of female genitalia. “That will be seventeen dollars, please.”

  Brigid handed over her card without comment and Freya processed the sale. “Thank you. See you soon.”

  Brigid left without another word. Freya had the feeling she’d just lost a customer due to her defence of Lily’s shop, and the class she hated. She sniffed. Her words had been spontaneous. That didn’t mean she suddenly approved of the use of the space. Laughter rippled through the wall again overlaid with Lily’s voice, although Freya couldn’t hear what she said.

  The streaming service hadn’t restarted. Freya moved to the player and reset it back to the Aussie rock channel. There would be no more Norah Jones, not in her shop.

  A couple more customers came in before closing time, but the activity on the other side of the wall was no more shocking than muted voices and shared laughter. But her jittery nerves had her glancing to the back wall often.

  It was too bad. If this class was a weekly occurrence, she would be forever worried what her customers would overhear and if they would be offended. Brigid was a customer she didn’t mind losing, but she couldn’t treat them all that way. A shopkeeper needed to be a smiling, affable mind reader, delighted to see every customer, no matter how painful or annoying.

  She moved to the shelf that held tisanes and flavoured teas, and ordered the boxes until they stood in neat soldier rows. She touched the yellow box of lemon balm and ginger tisane. It had been Sarah’s favourite, and even though scarcely any of it sold, Freya still stocked it, still drank the occasional cup just to conjure her lover in the scent of lemon balm.

  “What would you do, Sarah?” She directed the words at the display of tea, seeing in her mind Sarah’s fingers plucking the box from the shelf as she’d often done when she ran out of it upstairs. “Would you have gone to the class?”