Bell, Book and Dyke - New Exploits of Magical Lesbians

by Barbara Johnson, Karin Kallmaker, Therese Szymanski

  And, like my folks, I'd never missed a day of work, no matter what I broke, sprained, dislocated or concussed. I'd been raised to be a stunt person, just like my folks. I was resilient by nature and didn't get hurt nearly as often as I ought to due to sheer dumb luck. Or else I had a wicked-cool, with-it guardian angel or something.

  The rose had come to rest between their caskets and I stared at it for a moment. The minister eulogized about how my folks had worked toward ensuring safer standards for stunt people—even going so far as to stage a walk-out. There were many times they could have gotten more money, but instead they focused on safety and security for those like them and those yet to come.

  Like me.

  I stood in my black suit, looking like maybe I was ready to go to the Oscars or something, and knew I could dive down into that grave and land without injury. I knew my body and myself and my folks, but I didn't know anybody else. Not really.

  With the folks gone, there was no reason for me to stay here.

  They weren't supposed to go. Not yet. They still had so much to teach me. So much to tell me. I always knew there were things they were hiding from me, and those things, especially Mom's things, became more apparent as time went on. I only wanted to be worthy, to get worthy/become worthy enough, some day, for her to tell me.

  One day, when I was in high school, Dad was in Tonga filming, and I was supposed to go over to Christie's to study and we were working on Marsha Norman's 'Night Mother and I realized I hadn't told Mom I loved her for way too long. To my surprise, when I got home, she was surrounded by incense and candles, humming, as she sat cross-legged on the living room floor. I stared at her for several minutes before she realized I was there. As soon as she became aware of my presence all the candles snuffed, she stopped humming and became the mom I knew again.

  I guess that was the moment I knew the folks, or at least my mother, were/was hiding something from me. And I wanted to know what it was.

  "Some day I'll be able to tell you, Ty," she had said when I asked what was up. "We'll both know when the time is right. I can't explain more now, though, because there are those who would take advantage of you if they could."

  Christie wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me back from the grave. She stood next to me while people came and went, shaking my hand and offering condolences. Or I guess that's what was going on. I wasn't paying attention.

  These were all fake people, Hollywood people. Not real. Not like my parents. Why was I even still here in L.A.? Besides for their funeral?

  Christie squeezed me. "It's a real shock. I've been with her ever since she found out. It's just awful. I know."

  I looked up at the person Christie was explaining to. Michele.

  "Ty," Michele said as she took my hand. "I know everyone's telling you this, but if you need anything—"

  "I'm here for her," Christie said.

  I was surprised by Christie's possessiveness, because usually she'd be fawning all over Michele, trying to get work. But I couldn't complain because Christie had been with me ever since they died.

  "Have dinner with me Friday," Michele said, holding my hand in both of hers.

  "Give me a call," I said. Her hands were warm.

  "Why don't I just pick you up at seven?" she asked. I wanted to collapse into her arms. I wanted to curl up and cry on her lap.

  I had to run. I had to get away from her. Michele wasn't good for me—she was rich, famous and important and I was just me— plain, simple, nobody me—and I loved her way too much.

  "She'll meet you at Piccolo's at seven on Friday, how's that?" Christie said, nodding toward the rest of the mourners who wanted to pay their respects to me. She tightened her arm around me and got Michele to move along and I wished, yet again, that Christie was The One, even if she was just using me. I understood the rules in Hollywood, at least I thought I did. But as each day passed without my parents, I felt those rules were no longer working for me. I needed to get out of town, and I knew just where to go.

  Chapter 2

  "How are you doing?" Michele asked, reaching across the table to place her hand on mine. Her hand was soft. It felt nice. Comforting. "Really?"

  "Uh, okay." I twisted my neck a bit, cracking it. "I don't think I'll even have any bruises tomorrow. Or not many, at least." I tried to withdraw my hand, but she wouldn't let me. We'd just finished shooting the season finale that day. I hadn't taken any time off the show since the folks died. I knew they would've liked that.

  "Ty, you've been doubling for me for more than six seasons now. I know you. Somewhat. And there's something troubling you lately."

  "My folks just kicked, how am I supposed to be acting?" I poked my salad with my fork and didn't look at her.

  "I know my own father was basically a sperm donor, nothing more. But I can't imagine losing my mom, too."

  "All things considered, I'm fine. Okay? I'm getting over it all." I tried to yank my hand from hers. It wouldn't be good for her rep to be caught holding hands with another woman in a restaurant.

  She kept her grip on my hand with both of hers. It was becoming a territory war. "Tyler, I just want you to know I'm here for you. If you need a friend. Someone to talk to. Anything like that— anything at all."

  "Fourteen years and how many meals have we shared, Michele?"

  "Hundreds. Thousands even, maybe."

  "But how many with just the two of us?"

  "Don't shut me out now, Ty. You need me now more than ever."

  "Is that a threat?" I stood, looking down at her. We were about the same height, but she had long, dark hair, was stacked and was hot. Wicked hot. "If you're threatening to cut off my work, to kick me off the show ..."

  "No, Ty, I'm not. I'm just—"

  "I don't need you, or the show, any more anyway." The words were coming out of my mouth and I was hating myself for them. How bloody stupid could I be? She could blacklist me and make sure I didn't ever get another job again. Unless, of course, I wanted to work at Mickey D's or Wal-Mart.

  She seized my hand again and wrote some numbers on my palm. "This is my home number, and my cell. I don't know what you're going through, and I can't imagine what it must be like. But if you need somebody to talk to, call me. And I'm not just saying that, I actually mean it."

  She looked at me earnestly and I believed her in that moment. But then I remembered she was a TV star, a multi-millionaire, and so much else I wasn't. I had just realized I couldn't trust my best friends, since they weren't my friends at all, but were simply using me to get work in a town so networked knowing anyone was a huge step up. "Why should I listen to you? Believe you?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think. I so needed to fire my internal censor.

  "I can't give you a single reason," she said. "I just know I can't let you run away from me like this."

  I looked at her and remembered how I used to cherish every single touch from her. It wasn't just the blacklist I was afraid of, it was that I wouldn't be able to leave her. "I've got enough cash to retire now. I'm not sure if I'm going to or not, but I am taking a break. See, Mom left me a house out in the Midwest. I've been dreaming of it every night since they passed, in fact. I feel like I have to go there. Move there. And I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

  "I just have to tell you, I'm a huge fan of yours!" the waiter gushed, placing the bill by Michele's elbow. I realized a number of folks were staring at us now and finally I succeeded in freeing myself from her grasp.

  I grabbed the check, glanced at it, and threw some bills into the folio. "You ready then?"

  "We don't have to work tomorrow," she said, autographing something for the waiter. "The season's over, after all." She could never be mine—she belonged to everyone else.

  "I'm not quite comfortable here." I led her outside.

  "Tyler, you have to deal with this."

  "I'm fine, I'm cool, I'm copacetic even." I took her keys and opened her car door for her.
/>   "And I'm following you home. We're not done."

  "Micky, I'm not gonna risk your career by hanging too close to you."

  "It's not your choice. You do what you have to, and I'll do what I must."

  I looked at her. Apparently she wouldn't get into her car until I agreed.

  "Ty, I'm going to follow you to your home, and we'll finish talking there," Michele said. "I'm surprised I got you away from Christie for this long, and now you're telling me you're planning on moving away. I don't want to lose this chance. It might be our last, okay?"

  Christie had wanted to join me tonight. It was when she'd commented that Michele could help her as well that I realized it was time to redefine our friendship with a firm no.

  I looked at Michele. She didn't know where I lived, and I knew I could lose her quite easily if I wanted to. But of all the Hollywood people I knew, she was the one who had nothing to gain by being a real friend.

  "I'm hoping you'll give me a ride on that bike of yours someday," Michele said in my apartment parking lot.

  I was embarrassed as I led her into my meager dwelling, but she didn't seem at all disturbed by it.

  "Dear lord, you own a lot of books," she said as she draped her jacket on the sofa.

  I shrugged. "I like to read. I like to know things. And I've always hated having to wait to find things. To get info." I didn't mention all the stories I'd written. All the stuff I'd written. All the book clubs I belonged to. So I simply rolled my eyes and shrugged.

  "And I'd always thought By-the-Book Black meant you followed the rules," she said, "not that you were such a voracious reader."

  "Being a stunt person you have to be careful and pay attention to all the details, because there's just way too many ways to get hurt doing this job. As my folks so amply proved. So I read." She was just so incredible, I wanted her to see me for more than just... as more than just... well... some stalker-loser guy. She got those every day of the week since the start of the second season, when her popularity took off.

  She could be The One, but everyone thought that about her. She didn't need me acting like that, too.

  "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked.

  "Sure, a diet soda would be great."

  When I returned with a soda for her and a beer for me, she'd taken off her shoes, curling up against an arm of the couch with her feet curled beneath her.

  I handed her the soda and went to the stereo to put on some music.

  "Most people in this business live it up," Michele said. "I'm surprised you live here. Like this."

  "I don't need much. My space, my books and my computer. I'd rather save up for the hard times." I sat at the other end of the sofa, far away from her.

  "So you're just selling your parents' house here, packing everything up, and moving to Michigan?"

  "Ayeah, that's about the size of it."

  "Have you ever been to Michigan before?"

  "We visited the place a few times while I was growing up."

  "And you're doing this because ... ?"

  "Micky, my world has gone all David Lynch since my folks passed. But see, I remembered that house right after I found out they'd died, and then, just after the funeral, Christie and I were going through a drive-thru, and all the quarters we got back were from Michigan."

  "Why did your Mom have a house in Michigan?"

  "The house—and property—has been in her family forever. She grew up in it."

  "So it's just been sitting there empty?"

  I shrugged. "It is now. I'll need to figure out what's been up with it. I know they rented it sometimes."

  "So you're giving up everything—and everyone—you know, selling or packing everything, and moving to a place where you don't know a soul?"

  "Ayeah. That's about the size of it."

  "But what if it doesn't work out for you out there? What if you don't like it?"

  I shrugged. "I'll move back here. Buy a new place. I wouldn't want to live in the folks' place, since it'd remind me too much of them, and I shouldn't keep throwing money away on rent when I can just buy a place, y'know?"

  "And all this doesn't seem the least bit strange to you? Why now?"

  "I've always known what I'd do—it was laid out for me. I idolized my folks, and simply followed in their footsteps. I did what they did. But it's like with them gone now, I've realized that I can die, and will die someday. And then I look around me, at everything we've always done, and realized it's all an illusion. Fake."

  "Ty, you work in TV and movies. Of course it is."

  "I know. And it can be nice. I can pick up DVDs and videos and say I worked on this or that—but do I affect people? Does my work make a difference? I feel like I need to stop and look at everything. I don't need to keep hustling for a living, so I should take this chance to figure things out and decide what to do next. And where better than the Midwest? Where people are real?"

  "I guess I'm not real enough for you, huh?" Michele averted her face.

  I put my hand on her arm. I didn't like her turning from me, especially not since we were connecting like we never had before. I was starting to think maybe something could happen between us—maybe not an affair, but maybe a friendship.

  "Yeah, what?" she said.

  "Sorry. Thank you for your help. Thank you for trying. It means a lot, even though I've been an ass. I just need to do what I need to do, okay?"

  She leaned closer to me and cupped my cheek. "Just remember I'm here for you, okay?"

  I wanted to kiss her so badly. But she was way out of my league.

  "Tell me," she said. I could feel her warm breath on my cheek. "I hear about you and all your conquests. Is it all true?"

  "No. Nothing here is real, remember?" I picked up my beer and finished it off. I didn't like her believing all those bizarre rumors about me—I hadn't been with that many women. She was too close, and it wasn't safe. I'd had a drink with dinner and one since. "Michele, I'm thinking about having another drink. You maybe might wanna leave."

  "Do you have any wine?" She looked up at me through her lashes. She so had to know what she was doing.

  I picked an appropriate bottle, poured her a glass, and snagged another beer for me. I sat back next to her on the couch and handed her the wine. I felt an intense jolt when our fingers brushed. This situation was unreal and I closed my eyes for a moment.

  She had turned off the lights, lit the candles, and unbuttoned another button on her blouse, but I looked at her face, into her eyes. I wanted her too badly to give in to her for just one night, if doing so meant that was all we'd ever have.

  I'd seen her in just a bra and panties before. This was far hotter than that because that'd merely been thespians changing costumes. This was her getting comfortable around me, and starting to undress for me. Acting as if she was going to seduce me.

  I focused on her eyes.

  "Your mom told me you'd listen to me," she said.

  "You talked about me with my mom? That's kinda weird, babe."

  "Yeah, but she was right, wasn't she?"

  "I didn't even know you knew my mom." She was so close I couldn't resist touching her. I brushed my fingers softly through her hair.

  "She knew I liked you in a more-than-friends way, and so she trusted me. She told me things. She wanted me to help you. She knew we had more powerful things in common and that I could be here for you when she couldn't. She didn't want to tell you, because she knew how powerful you could be—and how someone else might try to take that power for themselves. She didn't want you to know, for fear that it'd only make you stronger and draw even more attention to you."

  "I don't want to be talking about my mom right now." I feathered my lips up her neck and to her delicate earlobe. "Besides, she's dead."

  Michele lay back, bringing me down on top of her. "God, Ty, I've been thinking about this since I first saw you."

  "Me you too." I looked at her full, lush, pouty lips an
d needed to taste them. I leaned down, brushing my lips over hers, and she raised up so she could feel my lips with hers. I slipped my arm under her head and lay by her side. "You are so unbelievably beautiful."

  She took my hand and placed it on her breast.

  I kissed her again, and she opened her lips, allowing me to enter her. I caressed her breast. "I can't believe this is happening," I said.

  "Maybe it isn't, not really," she said.

  I unbuttoned her blouse as we looked deep into each other's eyes. Her nipples hardened and I caressed them with my tongue and fingers.

  "God, yes, please."

  "Don't call me god. Not yet." I slipped off the sofa to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. I laid her on the bed and she sat up so I could remove her blouse and bra. It was like she could read my mind—as if she knew what I wanted.

  She lay back, naked from the waist up. She was looking up at the ceiling as I pulled her skirt, stockings and undies off. "I love your biceps. It turns me on when you carry me."

  I lay on top of her.

  "Please, Ty, I need to feel you," she said, tugging at my T-shirt. I sat up and pulled it and my sports bra off.

  I lay back upon her and groaned at the feeling of her breasts against mine. We kissed long and deep and I kissed down her body and wrapped her legs around my shoulders and slowly tasted her.

  "Ty, yes, please."

  I ran my tongue up and down her. "Open yourself for me."

  She reached down and opened herself, even as she arched up into my mouth, tempting me to further ministrations.

  It got even hotter seeing her touch herself.

  I buried my tongue in her, then replaced it with my fingers. I ran my tongue up and down her.

  I fucked her with my fingers, and added another and another. I was knuckles deep in her and eating her up like the tasty treat she was.

  "Yes, please, Ty, now! God yes!"

  Her legs tightened around my shoulders as I buried my face in her. I loved having her. I loved being in her and touching her like this.

  I loved her.