by Levia Ortega
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Title
July 10
Three Months Earlier
The Morning After
Two Months Earlier
One Month Earlier
July 10, Part Two
Three Weeks Later
Synopsis
Vivacious Valerie and rather down-to-earth Christine could not be more different, but they are also inseparable friends. They are co-owners of Dreams Take Flight, a travel agency. Valerie firmly believes in the inevitable encounter with her soul mate, the love of her life. Christine dismisses this idea as a flight of fancy, until the day she meets the unexpected love of her life. At her favorite club Sappho, she sees a beautiful stranger and feels like she has been struck by lightning. Their eyes meet and lock for a moment, but suddenly, the attractive mystery woman vanishes.
Christine enters an exciting emotional rollercoaster when she moves heaven and earth to find her again.
When Dreams Take Flight
© 2015 By Levia Ortega
A Lesbian Short Story
Copyright
1. Edition 2015
Copyright © 2014 Levia Ortega
English translation copyright © 2015 Susanne M. Swolinski
This is a translation of the German short story Träume vermögen zu fliegen.
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
July 10
Click, click.
Click, click.
I’m going to speak to her today!
Click, click.
Click, click.
“Hey, cut it out!” I called over to my partner Valerie.
But Valerie was focused on her computer, pretending she didn’t know what I was talking about.
Click, click.
Click, click.
“Okay, I’ve had it,” I said forcefully. “Stop it right now!”
No reaction. She just kept staring at her monitor.
“Val? You realize we’re the only ones here, right?” I said. “That means, either I’m the one throwing paper wads at my head – and I can definitely say I’m not, since I’m rather sane; don’t give me that look, I did say rather – or you’re doing the throwing!”
She nodded.
Why is she nodding? Seriously, sometimes I just don’t get her.
Click, click.
Click, click.
But what shall I say to her when I see her again? This nagging question kept spinning through my mind. No, no, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to rehearse anything specific; it would take me weeks to settle on the perfect words.
Click, click,
Click, click.
Today’s the day! I’m going to speak to her! My god, I’m really going to do it!
Click, click,
Click, click.
I know I’m not going to chicken out again, I tried to convince myself. I was certain of it, because my body was already reacting in a very undesirable way. My hands were sweating; my heart was beating. No, it wasn’t just beating: it was pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.
Click, click.
Click, click.
“Damn it, Val, we’re no longer in school!” I yelled at my partner, who had just flicked another wad of paper at my head. “I’m going to lose it soon.” I gave her the evil eye.
“Then stop clicking your ballpoint pen. One of us here is trying to get some work done,” she replied calmly.
Oh. Had I really been doing that? I hadn’t noticed.
“I kept calling over to you but got no reaction. You were just staring into space and clicking your pen. I had to do something,” Val explained, making no effort to hide the amused tone in her voice.
I sneaked a quick look down at my desk and saw about twenty paper wads lying there. How long had she been throwing those at me? I had only noticed the last three. How embarrassing. How could that happen – to me, of all people? I was the one who always told Val to please leave her private life at home. Work is no place for it. We have a small business and need to work hard to make a living. And it’s not easy, having to compete with our biggest opponents, those online travel agencies that don’t have to pay leases for downtown locations. We have no safety nets and no lifeline in case something goes wrong.
Blah, blah, blah. I could go on this way for hours. Which I do quite often. Mostly whenever Val gets on my nerves talking non-stop about her weekends. Whenever she’s convinced, again, she has seen the woman of her dreams. She’s unbearable at times, telling me about her beautiful stranger for days on end. About her dreams for the weekend, when she would see her again, when the mysterious woman would pick her out of the crowd, and how it would just click between them.
Oh, my dear Val, the unwavering romantic, always dreaming of a happy ending!
I could kiss her for her optimism. She is unwilling to give up her dreams. No matter how vehemently anybody tries to talk her out of her wishful thinking, she’s sticking to it. To make matters worse, she turns the tables on them and continues to fantasize about her pie in the sky until the most adamant pessimists start to doubt themselves.
At work, it’s up to me to get her back down to earth. I always have to dig deep into my repertory of sermons. Most of the time I have to dedicate a complete day to this task, so that by the end of the week she is able to concentrate on her work again, at least to a certain degree.
And what am I doing? Exactly the opposite of what I always preach.
Click —
Stop! I reminded myself, when I noticed Val glaring at me reproachfully across her monitor. Right, don’t I need to write down something incredibly important? I took my ballpoint pen, leaned forward and started to write. I sat back, studied my scribbling, folded my arms across my chest and nodded satisfied. Still nodding, I stole a quick glance at Val out of the corner of my eye. She was still watching me, and surely she must have realized by now that I was indeed working. I turned my head in her direction and gave her a smug stare. Then I double-checked my note. Yup. Everything was totally correct. Indeed, today was Friday, the tenth day of July.
Or had Val figured me out? She was still watching me. We stared at each other, and I could see joy gleaming in her eyes. I watched her taking her eyes off me and moving them down to the bottom right of the screen in front of her, very slowly and purposefully. The corners of her mouth started to twitch. Yes, she was definitely checking the time.
“Christine, it’s ten to thrrrreeeee!” she announced with badly concealed delight, rolling the r in her typical Spanish way.
“I’ll be getting our coffees, then,” I replied, forcing a neutral tone into my voice. And I avoided making eye-contact with Val as I said it, because she knew what was on my mind.
I put on my jacket and made a point of walking to the door in a slow and composed manner. If I don’t concentrate on something else on my way over there, I’ll break into a run, I thought. I’ll downright race to that café.
And then what would I look like when I arrived? Totally out of breath, hair tousled and cheeks glowing bright red. Nope. Nobody would take me seriously. But how could I manage to arrive there in the calmest state possible?
If I had known three months earlier what would happen to me, would I have gone out that night, or would I have instead preferred to hide myself away at home?
Ever since that day, my life had been turned upside down.
Three Months Earlier
It was a Saturday and Sappho was having its regular women’s night, always a popular event. Val and I had been so busy that we hadn’t been able to go out for ages. It was the season for early bird deals at the travel agency. Or, as Val liked to call it, penny-pincher time. So many people wanted to get even larger discounts on already great deals, preferably not pay anything at all.
Today Val had lost it. “Maybe you would like us to pay you to go on vacation?” she had yelled at a couple. The woman was outraged, and her husband rushed out of the agency with a beet red face.
I tried to blame her Spanish nature for this breakdown. Either that or she just needed to get laid, badly. I’d still go for the latter.
That thought made me giggle. But I didn’t say it out loud, because Val’s expression made me shut up. I could understand her, after all. She had invested more than two hours with this couple. Had identified the perfect destination for them, plowed through catalogues, evaluated value for money. Val had been completely honest and had even explained what she knew from reading between the lines of the catalogues.
That had been our basic premise when we had opened our own travel agency: honesty. Our customers were supposed to be able to trust us and enjoy their vacations. No nasty surprises, such as construction sites or dilapidated hotels. But very soon people started talking about discounts. Every second sentence we got to hear included the word “discount.” Or they complained they could get a better price online. So, today Val had lost it.
She and I had met in business school when we were training to become travel consultants. It was a great example of opposites attract. Not just our opposite appearance, but more than anything our less than similar character features.
Val is drop dead gorgeous. There’s just no way around it. At 5’6” she’s surprisingly tall for a Spaniard. She’s slender, has long dark hair and the dark eyes to match. A soft, deep brown. When she’s upset, though, her eyes appear to be burning black. Because if Val is livid, she’s like a fury. Not just simply that. No. She’ll talk herself into a rage, can’t sit still and gestures energetically with her hands. Once, in my home, she even smashed a vase to pieces while waving her hands through the air. She paces back and forth and talks so fast that her words virtually collide with each other.
The only extremely annoying thing about her, though, is her ability to eat whatever she wants without gaining even an ounce. And to make matters worse: she doesn’t even work out! It’s unbelievable.
She, the dreamer, staunch proponent of love at first sight – I, the realist. We’re a perfect fit. There’s nothing more to say. She likes me, and I like her. We watch out for each other like sisters.
Sappho. Whenever I think of that place, I have to smile. Yes, it’s our club. We feel at home there. What place could be better suited to cheer Val up on a day like this? So, after the trouble with those indecisive customers, I talked her into meeting up with our friends that evening to forget it all at Sappho and dance away the frustration and stress of the past few weeks.
At first she didn’t want to go. No matter what I said, she turned me down. She argued that she was too tired and worn out to go anywhere. But she was clearly stressed, and I had to do something about it. The exhaustion visible on her face cut into my heart. I had to convince her. What else was I to do but come up with a ruse?
I had a card up my sleeve, and I drew it. “What if, today of all days, the woman of your dreams is going to appear?”
Well, what shall I say? It worked, of course. Sometimes I just know better what’s good for Val than Val herself. Who could have guessed that my prediction was meant for me and that it would pull the rug from under my feet? Anybody?
Val came by to pick me up. Exactly at ten she stood on the doormat to my apartment.
The words burst out of her mouth the moment I opened the door: “Chris, you need to have a word with Frau Schmidt! She can’t have her cat hanging around the stairway like that. I get the feeling it was just waiting for me to walk by to come shooting out of a dark corner and startle me into crashing over the banister and breaking my neck. Darn creature almost succeeded. I tell you, that cat has a killer gene!”
“My name has been Christine for thirty years, and I’ve been reminding you of over and over for the past twelve,” I said. “I really don’t get the constant shortening of my name. Spare me the clichés; I’m not a typical lesbian in one of your favorite books. After all, we’re not drinking tea either, like they do all the time. Look at us: we’re probably the biggest coffee drinkers in the world.” I took a deep breath and continued: “With regards to Frau Schmidt: she is seventy-eight years old and a bit scatterbrained. But she is one of the nicest and friendliest people I know. She always has a sympathetic – although slightly deaf – ear for me, and she only has that cat,” I said. “She tells me her kids hardly ever come for a visit. So you can’t possibly want to take away her cat, even if she happens to forget it in the stairway sometimes.”
“It’s called senile obstinacy when they pretend to simply forget things.” Then she asked impatiently: So, Christine, are you ready to go?”
I raced into the bathroom and tried to get my blond tresses under control. My natural curls, close to shoulder length, are a horror to me. Especially here in Hamburg where humidity in every variety is such a constant. After just a few raindrops, my hair always looks as if two tornadoes danced a tango on my head.
Val was wearing her typical hip-hugging jeans, a tight, black tank-top and espadrilles. She’s like a sister to me, but if she weren’t, I would not be one to give her the cold shoulder. All you women who have never even given Val a chance, shame on you!
Our styles had never been the same, and they had never moved toward each other over the course of our long friendship. So I pulled on my green leggings, which showcased my butt so perfectly – according to Val. I hastily shoved the top she detested back into the closet and instead opted for a simple white blouse, then slipped into my pumps.
When I came out of my bedroom, we scrutinized each other and nodded approvingly. As we were leaving the apartment and the door closed behind us, Val turned to me with a grin on her face. “You may still call me Val for the next twelve years.”
I nudged her in the side, and we got on our way to Sappho.
When we entered the club half an hour later and climbed down the three steps, we headed directly to our regular table. To our left, the bar was already crowded. The bottles on the white shelves were illuminated by a subtle, purple neon light. Clara, the club owner, always revealed her mood through her choice of color. Today’s purple was pleasant, so we decided Clara had to be in a good mood. Apparently she had no problems and wanted her guests to simply have a good time.
Whenever the light was green, we would exchange meaningfully glances, because we knew we would be back the next day to have a chat with Clara. Green was symbolic of something weighing her down. We always tried to be there for her. Either by simply listening to her problems and giving her an opportunity to get it off her chest, or by offering some advice.
While we were making our way around the throng of women who had settled into their roles of observers at the edge of the dance floor, we could see Becca – well, Rebecca –hopping up and down and eagerly waving at us. How her red bob moved with her every word, and how it all bounced when she laughed! You couldn’t help yourself, you had to laugh along. She could tell every story so convincingly, as if it had happened to her personally.
Viv, short for Vivian, had not moved an inch from our corner table, to prevent anybody from even entertaining the idea of taking it away from us.
Becca gave us a big hug, a quick peck on each cheek, and then she launched right into a story. She never cared if anybody listened, as long as she could talk. Becca is one of a kind. She knows everything, has every story, every rumor, the latest break-ups, the newest make-ups and the hottest couples. Val and I call her our walking Wikipedia of the local lesbian scene.
After our greeting ritual,
we went towards our table to meet Viv.
Shortly before we reached our table, I stopped in my tracks. I felt something happening, in precisely that moment. I had to stop, as if my feet were suddenly glued to the floor.
To this day, it’s still a mystery to me why I stopped.
It made me turn around. As if moved by a magnet, forced to do something, no matter if I agreed or not.
As I was turning around slowly, I scanned the crowd. I had no idea why, but I did.
Then somebody pulled on my arm and dragged me on. It was Becca, who had returned to lead me to the table. Surprised and confused, I let it happen. Becca realized something was off and scrutinized me with knit brows, but she continued to pull me along. Apparently, her curiosity radar was in neutral, or she had decided that whatever she had to share was simply much more interesting than my reluctance to move.
As Becca rattled on and on, I finally said hi to Viv. A peck on the right cheek, a peck on the left. Becca sat down and kept talking without catching her breath. Viv only rolled her eyes. I had no idea how long those two had been there and poor Viv had had to listen to her. I grinned, and she understood right away.
Viv, it’s fair to say, is Becca’s counterpart. Calm and quiet, she listens and thinks a lot. If she gives advice, it’s never impulsive, only after she has had time to thoroughly consider all aspects. She’s convinced that people often find a solution or come to a decision by themselves, if you only let them talk; people sometimes just need to take time to listen to themselves.
Val got up and ordered the first round of drinks for all of us. She always did. Not without having an ulterior motive, though. She reasoned there was a chance she would meet the woman of her dreams at the bar or bump into her going there or coming back.
I watched Val leaning her back against the bar, while waiting for her order to be filled, and scanning the whole room. It reminded me of what had happened to me just a little while ago. What had happened? I still didn’t know.