North Coast: A Contemporary Love Story

by Dorothy Rice Bennett

  Gina nodded. “Yes, same as today.”

  Kia nodded then disappeared suddenly.

  When Gina checked out from her shift two days later, Kia was waiting outside the bookstore. She led Gina to a nearby Asian restaurant with a dark interior and comfortable booths. The menu featured a variety of Asian foods. Gina was drawn to the Chinese dishes, which were more familiar to her, and Kia ordered for herself from the Vietnamese menu.

  Once they had ordered Gina looked at Kia and asked, “You are surrounded by students at the college. Out of all the choices available to you for conversation and friendship, why did you pick me?”

  Kia’s cheeks colored as she stared at her silverware. Haltingly and uneasily she began. “Well, I think you are beautiful. I heard from a friend taking an ESL class that you have an advanced degree in English literature and I just wanted to get to know you.”

  Gina shrugged. “No, you are exotic. A really beautiful young woman. The best of two worlds, East and West. When I look in the mirror I see a Midwestern American hayseed. Nothing special. So it’s hard for me to understand—”

  Kia interrupted, “That I see beauty in you?”

  Gina was rescued from her discomfort and Kia’s uncustomary directness by the arrival of their dinner. They ate in silence for a minute or two. This Kia was really in her face. Not like Linda Sue, but in her face nevertheless. Kia was what—23 or 24 at the most—and Gina was pushing 35. Apart from both being lesbians and liking and studying English literature, what was their common ground? Yes, she found Kia attractive, she had to admit that, and Kia had hardly masked her own intentions. But pure attraction could only lead to a sexual fling, nothing more, and Gina had had her fill of those back in Arizona. She wasn’t looking for another one, not with this attractive Kia any more than she had been with the not-so-attractive Linda Sue.

  Gina and Kia were silent again as they sampled their dishes. Kia offered Gina a taste of a couple of the Vietnamese entrees, which she accepted and found enjoyable. They drank their tea while quietly, almost secretly, observing each other.

  Gina finally broached the subject that most concerned her. “What is it that you really want?”

  Kia gazed into her eyes. “To talk with you. To spend time with you. Maybe to touch you. And maybe to touch your heart.”

  Gina almost exploded. This was much too much and way too fast. “I think it’s time I go home,” she said, standing up.

  “Wait,” Kia begged. “Please don’t go, not yet.”

  Gina struggled with herself. She was totally uncomfortable but Kia had done nothing really wrong, so she shouldn’t create a scene. She sat back down. “Okay, we’ll complete dinner—but then I’m going.”

  By the time they finished eating, including tapioca pearls in coconut milk for a light and unusual dessert, Gina had regained some sense of balance. Kia insisted on paying the bill and Gina allowed her to do so. After all, she had come at Kia’s invitation.

  Kia wanted to walk Gina home and, although she thought it a big mistake, Gina allowed it to happen. Inside she kept mumbling to herself, “I’m in way over my head here.”

  As they stopped at Mrs. Han’s front doorstep, Kia surprised Gina by reaching up, holding her cheeks with both hands, and kissing her deeply, probingly. Then with a “See you,” she was gone.

  Gina did not get much sleep that night. She tossed and turned, thinking about Eureka and Valerie and the gang up there on the North Coast, her memories from Tucson, her encounters with Linda Sue, and what she wanted out of life. This interlude with Kia just didn’t fit in anywhere. Yet Gina had come to San Francisco to be among lesbians and that inevitably invited the chance of a lesbian relationship. Now that the opportunity was right in front of her with someone really attractive, why was she fighting it so desperately?

  If Kia would just go away that would settle things, wouldn’t it?

  But, of course, Kia did not go away. She showed up at City College, she showed up at the bookstore, she asked Gina out to a movie and, beaten down, Gina agreed to go. The movie, which Gina hadn’t heard of, turned out to be a lesbian romance with lots of steamy sex scenes. Gina squirmed in her seat and thought she might scream at times, but she didn’t.

  Again they walked back to Mrs. Han’s together and again Kia kissed her, just as passionately as before, and left without anything beyond “See you.”

  Gina went upstairs to face another sleepless night. This kid was getting to her.

  After their third evening out together, Kia abruptly invited Gina back to her apartment a few streets away in another section of North Beach. Gina felt like a horse being broken by a persistent cowgirl. Her mind said no, but her body was saying something totally different and “unprintable” that she mumbled silently to herself.

  Kia’s place was dark and modern, with touches of Western leather furniture and Asian paintings and photographic art. Exotic, like Kia.

  Gina was offered a glass of wine, but before more than a sip or two the kissing began. Undressing, touching, and exploring quickly followed, first on the sofa and then in the bedroom, where deep embraces and deeper kisses produced rising passion and a crashing climax.

  Gina had never had a partner as intense as Kia and she had never experienced this much physical desire in herself. Her body throbbed, she shivered from chills not brought on by cold, she inhaled the sweet aroma of womanly flesh, and she thrilled at what she could feel—what they could do together, to each other.

  When they were sated and lying side by side, their bodies glistening in moonlight from the nearby window, hands and fingers still stroking, Kia asked, “Did you like it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Gina confessed breathlessly.

  “Do you like me?”

  “Yes, yes I do.” The words tumbled out. No stopping them.

  “Good, because I like you—a lot.”

  Later that night, Gina lay in her own bed at Mrs. Han’s and begged for sleep to overtake her. Her thoughts and the feelings and images of her encounter with Kia were all twisting and turning in her mind.

  She was not sorry she had surrendered to Kia. Hopefully no harm was done, and perhaps a lot of good was done. If she still had any doubts about being a lesbian, she knew now for sure that she physically and emotionally wanted, loved, and desired women, not men. It couldn’t be clearer.

  What was not clear to her was how to fit Kia into a picture bigger than that single night. She was enthralled by the exotic in Kia, by her charisma and physical presence, but beyond the passion what could they have together?

  Kia was young, very young, a student. While she wasn’t Gina’s student, she was still a student. She was different, from a different world. A huge gulf to be crossed for any long-term relationship. Five years from now would they be in the same place? Want the same things? Gina admittedly wasn’t finished growing into herself either, but her life was certainly a few steps beyond Kia’s. The encounter offered Gina a sense of validation, but she still knew that one-night stands were not her thing. She now felt ready to create a more permanent partnership, and she knew that was unlikely with this young partner. Kia had considerable growth and change ahead of her—first at Berkeley, then out in the world. Many experiences, many relationships perhaps, before a committed one.

  Still Gina challenged herself. Maybe she was putting up walls. Maybe she wasn’t allowing something beautiful to happen. Or maybe, on the other hand, her conflict had nothing to do with Kia, her age, or anything like that at all. Maybe Gina had already, unknowingly, given her heart to someone else. Perhaps only her body was available to Kia—not her mind, not her heart, or her soul. Gina lay in bed awake for hours, mulling over this possibility. And what, if anything, to do about it.

  The next time Gina saw Kia she told her how she felt. Disappointed, Kia tried to hold back her tears but seemed to understand. She disappeared from Gina’s life as suddenly as she had entered it.

  Gina was leaving the bookstore after her shift. She said goodbye to Mrs. Sanchez, pulled her jacke
t close about her against a chilly breeze, and contemplated dinner at the nearby deli. The Jewish-run delicatessen had become her favorite spot to eat, even though she had to run several miles to work off the extra calories contained in those marvelous sandwiches. She was thankful that her job kept her on her feet most of the time.

  She arrived at the deli to find Joel, her favorite counter man, on duty. He assembled her habitual sandwich: brisket of beef on Russian rye with lots of provolone cheese and a dill pickle. She grabbed some chips and a Diet Coke and sat by the front window to eat. It was a slow night, and she and Joel chatted about the San Francisco Giants and the current baseball season. Joel had a game playing on the TV mounted above the end of the counter.

  When she had finished her meal, Gina waved to Joel and started down the street to Mrs. Han’s row house. Just as she turned the next corner, two bodies bumped against her, slamming her against the wall of a building and down onto the pavement and grabbing her purse. The figures, both young men dressed in black, ran off down the street. She got up, feeling her split lip and the scraped skin near her eye. It was already starting to swell, and her eye would be black. She concluded that nothing was broken, although she was beginning to hurt all over. One wrist throbbed. She walked carefully back to the deli, where Joel called 911 for her and gave her some ice for her eye.

  Two policemen, with a rather bored “we’ve-heard-this-all-before” look on their faces, arrived shortly, made some notes, took a description of her assailants, and said they’d try to find the thieves. “There’s been several of these incidents in this neighborhood in the past few weeks,” one of the officers acknowledged. “We think it’s drug related, and we’re trying to find these guys. So far, it’s the money they’re after, not a desire to hurt anyone.” After she told them for the third time that she didn’t need to go to a hospital, the cops shrugged, returned to their patrol car, and took off from the curb.

  Gina sat for a little while with the ice pack against her swollen face. She was miserable but she knew she was lucky. She usually stuck her wallet in a deep pocket of her jacket, so it wasn’t in her purse. They had gotten her favorite handbag. Fortunately it contained only a bottle of water, some snacks, her pill case—which held only aspirin and some antacids. But they had also gotten her journal and cell phone. Thank goodness, she thought to herself, she hadn’t invested her funds in a “smart” phone that could have provided the thieves with considerable personal information. She’d call the phone company as soon as she got home. After she reported the loss, she’d be off the hook for any calls the thieves might make. But the journal was irreplaceable. Nothing in it identified anyone else, but it contained so many of her thoughts and feelings and ideas that could be the basis for stories someday. In shock, Gina began quietly crying over that loss.

  Joel’s replacement arrived and, after the two men tallied the register receipts for his shift, Joel offered to walk Gina home. She accepted, and the two made their way down the sidewalk toward Mrs. Han’s row house. Gina was still shaking over the theft. She had always been careful, but she could never have known what this personal violation would feel like until it happened.

  After she climbed painfully up the stairs to her room, she found the cell phone information and asked Mrs. Han if she could use her phone. Mrs. Han was most sympathetic over the attack on the street and bustled about bringing first-aid cream and bandages for Gina’s face.

  Later that evening, Gina rested uncomfortably in bed. The worst was over, she had to admit to herself, and the phone company would close her account immediately. She could get a new cell phone the next day, open a new account, and life would go on. Her face would look like hell for a week or so, and then it would heal. The purse could be replaced.

  What could not be fixed was the way she was feeling—about the City, about her life here, about what was important to her. The attack could have happened in any city, including Eureka, and, by itself, wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was time to face the real issues. Heaving a sigh, she climbed out of bed, opened her laptop, and wrote two letters: one to the movie theater in Eureka and one to the human-resources department at Humboldt State University.

  A week later, Joel left a message with Mrs. Han that the police had been by the delicatessen trying to locate her. “They found your purse,” he had said.

  When Gina came home, she immediately got in touch with Joel and located the officer who had found her handbag. She had to go to a nearby police substation to pick it up. “The thieves were disappointed when there was no money in the purse,” the duty officer told her. “They just tossed it a few blocks away. They did take the cell phone, but otherwise I think you’ll find everything you reported missing.”

  She took the somewhat battered purse and held it tightly, thanking the policeman.

  When she arrived back home, she thumbed through her journal. It seemed intact, and she was very relieved to have her personal thoughts and writing back again. The thieves had not stolen her words.

  The semester was over, and Gina felt some sense of accomplishment at seeing how many of the ESL students were more proficient in English at the end of the class than they were at the beginning. She had really enjoyed watching several of them grow and hoped they would do well in their studies and continue their acculturation into American society. At the last class meeting, Linda Sue threw a little party, with punch and cookies, and they all congratulated each other. Several students came up to Gina and told her in their halting, but improved, English how grateful they were for her help during the semester. She appreciated the acknowledgment and thanked them and wished them all well.

  Three weeks before the end of the semester, Linda Sue had allowed—“ordered” would probably be a more accurate word—Gina to teach a session. The class had gone reasonably well, and Gina was proud of herself for standing before the students and for successfully, while struggling at times, following the syllabus. She wouldn’t give herself an A+, but she had faced the classroom and survived. So had the students.

  After the last class and the party, Linda Sue invited Gina to coffee. She said that she had something important to share. Gina accepted the invitation, hoping this wasn’t yet another attempt at a personal relationship.

  The two nibbled on some biscotti, and Gina drank herbal tea while Linda Sue downed a large cup of decaf coffee. They joked about the semester and some of the funny language miscues that had happened along the way.

  “The reason I asked y’all to come,” Linda Sue finally said with some seriousness, “aside from the pleasure of y’all’s company, is to let y’all know that I recommended y’all for a teachin’ assignment in the ESL program. A class of y’all’s own, with more pay and y’all’s own assistant to do the scutt work, ’scuse my English.”

  Gina was taken aback. “I don’t know what to say—”

  Linda Sue stopped her. “Y’all done a good job supportin’ me, and it’s the least I can do in return. Y’all’re very well educated, and y’all should be doin’ more than gradin’ papers for someone less well prepared.”

  “I can’t begin to teach the way you do. Are you sure I’m ready for more responsibility?” Gina asked.

  “Y’all handled the students well and they ain’t that easy. Y’all seen me teach, and y’all handled a session on y’all’s own. I’m sure y’all would do a good job as a teacher,” Linda Sue explained. “And once y’all become an instructor, we’ll be on the same footing professionally and—”

  Gina could see where she was headed. “There’s only one problem,” Gina said. “I’m not sure I’ll be here in the fall.”

  Linda Sue played with her coffee cup. She allowed herself a deep sigh. “I ain’t surprised somehow,” she murmured. “Goin’ back to Eureka?”

  Gina shrugged. “I’m not sure. Possibly.” She put her hand on Linda Sue’s arm. “But you’ve been really nice and fair with me, and I might need that recommendation here or somewhere else down the road. I’d very much appreciate it.”

 
; “Well, since y’all ain’t as hard to read as y’all think,” Linda Sue said, “I brought a copy of my letter. Another copy is in y’all’s file at City College. This may help y’all, wherever y’all end up.” She pulled a folder out of her briefcase and handed it to Gina.

  Gina glanced at the brief letter the folder contained. Linda Sue had written it intelligently, but she had outlined qualities that Gina hadn’t recognized in herself and found difficult to believe. “This is overwhelming,” she admitted.

  “It’s deserved, little one, believe me. I’m a bit disappointed that we ain’t gotten to know one another better in the way I might like, but I gotta respect y’all. Y’all’re ethical. Y’all know where the limits are. So many people, includin’ lots of lesbians I know, ain’t got a clue what the word ‘boundary’ means.”

  Gina could feel her cheeks burning. “Thanks,” she said, “I really appreciate this.”

  “Y’all’re welcome. If y’all have a change of mind, I’m around. I ain’t goin’ nowhere anytime soon,” Linda Sue said, taking Gina’s hand as gently as her tough persona would allow.

  Gina leaned over and planted a light kiss on Linda Sue’s forehead. “I won’t forget you,” she said.

  It was time to go. Gina tucked the letter away in her new purse, which would forever remind her of the robbery a few weeks back, and walked with Linda Sue to the bus stop. There they said a final goodbye.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Spattered by flecks of green paint, Valerie was poised to lay brush to canvas one summer morning when the front doorbell rang. She wondered who that could be. None of her friends ever rang the doorbell. They just walked in. Her latest roomer, a female college student, was away for the weekend with her boyfriend. Val put down her paintbrush. She wiped her hands on a towel and ran a hand through her hair. Decided to let her smock be. Accompanied by Sam—who suddenly seemed agitated—she walked to the front door.

  Opening it, Val was shocked to see Gina standing there, neatly dressed in tan slacks, a white shell top, and a suede leather jacket. Her light-brown hair had been cut in an appealing pageboy, and she wore stunning sunglasses. In her hand was a bouquet of crimson roses.