by Amy Briant
Pinto held up her hands and asked them to quiet down, which they grudgingly did.
“I’ve put extra patrols into the field. At first light, we’ll resume our search. He may have already fled the area. We believe this man was simply a wanderer who strayed onto our land by accident. We’ve all learned the hard way how important it is to be vigilant. Please keep your eyes and ears open, sisters. Be watchful and let Security or Sarge know if you see anything.”
“What’s he look like, Pinto?” somebody called out from an upper row.
“White male, age forty to fifty, medium length dark hair and beard going gray, approximately five foot ten, hundred and fifty pounds, dirty clothes, walks with a limp.”
Oh, fuck. That sounded kind of familiar. I wondered if the man they were looking for had pursued me and East into their community. Had we unwittingly brought him here to their doorstep? But I still couldn’t believe that cuckoo Matteo could have followed us all this way. It didn’t seem like he was physically capable of it, let alone mentally. But if it wasn’t Matteo, who could it be?
“We’ve dealt with these kinds of situations before,” Pinto was saying reassuringly. “My crew knows what to do if and when they find him to ensure Tres Hermanas remains safe.”
“Shoot his ass!” someone yelled which got a big laugh and lots of heads nodding in agreement.
“Any questions?” asked Pinto, who was unsmiling and all business. I could see the flash of her green eyes from my front row seat. The bright stage lights caught the delicate down on her cheeks and the back of her neck as she turned her head. I had never seen such a gloriously hot androgynous female before—except in my dreams. In my peripheral vision, I could see that East was looking at me. I closed my mouth, took in some air and pretended I was cool.
There were no questions, just a few more shouts of “Go get him, Pinto!” as she returned to her seat on the bench. Nancy was the last one sitting there who had not yet spoken.
“Utility?” Simone said.
I didn’t know what “utility” was, but Nancy merely rose to her feet, said “Nothing to report, Simone” and sat back down again, so that was sort of an anticlimax after the big news from Security.
Simone once again took the floor, her wild fluff of white hair looking theatrical in the lights. I uncharitably speculated that that was the point. I didn’t trust her one bit. Sometimes, you just have a gut reaction to a person and my gut did not like Simone at all.
“Thank you, crew leaders,” she said. “And now we move on to new business. There are two items this week. First, I want to remind you that our annual harvest festival begins in just three short weeks.”
Cheers and applause filled the air at this happy news. I had a feeling these gals liked to party.
“We have a lot of work to do before then, but I know we will all pull together to get the harvest in on time so we can celebrate. And now for the other item—”
The crowd quieted again, although there was a feeling of excited anticipation in the air, as though they’d all be waiting for this. I suddenly realized “this” was us. Me and East. We were the New Business. Nancy was gesturing to us to come up on stage.
Simone said, “Sisters, I am happy to announce we have two new recruits joining us today.”
Recruits?
East stood and tried to pull me up. My legs would not cooperate. I absolutely did not want to go up on that stage. Marta helpfully gave me a shove and between the two of them, I suddenly lurched to my feet. East grabbed me and dragged me with her up on the stage. The lights were blinding. My mouth was dry, my stomach full of large and pissed-off butterflies.
“What are their names again?” Simone said out of the side of her mouth to Nancy, who quietly answered.
“Sisters, please welcome Elinor and Kell!”
There was a smattering of uncertain applause, a few hoots and catcalls, and one angry shout which cut clearly through the cool night air.
“Looks like a guy to me, Simone!”
More irate mutters. The general consensus did not appear to be in my favor.
Simone said unconvincingly, “I am told both are girls.”
It was almost like she was trying to embarrass Nancy or at least put her on the spot. I watched both of their faces. Nancy was calmly awaiting her turn to speak. She caught my eye and gave me a nod.
“Do you vouch for them, Sarge?” somebody yelled.
I wasn’t sure who Sarge was, but to my surprise, Nancy stepped to the edge of the stage and answered in a strong voice that left no doubt as to her meaning.
“I vouch for both these girls,” she called out to the crowd, emphasizing the “both” and the “girls.”
There was more murmuring in the crowd, but I heard someone near the front say “Well, if Sarge says so, that’s good enough for me.”
Simone seemed irritated that the attention had shifted away from her.
“Who will have them?” she cried.
East shot me a scared look and clutched my hand. I had no idea either what was going on.
The crew leader in charge of the kitchen (the aforementioned Beefy McGee, to my dismay) yelled, “I’ll take the hottie!” which got a lot of raucous laughter from the crowd and the women on stage. Nancy frowned. East couldn’t help but smile a little bit. I felt like shit.
Simone declared, “Elinor is assigned to the kitchen crew then per Buffalo’s request. Who will take the other?”
Silence. No one yelled out they would take me. No one called me a hottie.
Damn. Just like high school.
“I’ll take her,” Nancy said to Simone. Their gazes locked for a long moment.
Simone turned to the crowd. “Kell goes to Utility.”
She then turned sideways to face me and East, while still addressing the crowd.
“The new recruits will stay with us for thirty days and work for their meals. After thirty days, their possessions will be returned to them and the board will convene to decide on their permanent membership.”
There was so much wrong with that declaration, I hardly knew where to begin. I opened my mouth to protest, but Nancy caught my eye. She shook her head just slightly, just one quick left-right movement. “Now is not the time” was what her glance was saying. I decided to let caution be the better part of valor, but I was far from happy. Recruit, my ass.
“Is there any other new business?” Simone called out.
There was, but it was just a mix of complaints, requests and other boring junk that was quickly dispensed with. In a matter of minutes, the meeting was over. The kitchen crew leader and her staff descended upon East and spirited her away. I don’t think she had realized until that moment that they would be splitting us up. There was nothing we could do. She shot me a fearful look as they walked her away from where I stood with Marta and Nancy, my fists balled, my jaw rigid. I thought I saw her lips form my name, but then she was lost in the crowd.
“She’ll be okay, kid,” Nancy said to me. “They’re just taking her to the kitchen crew’s quarters. She’ll be working with them now.”
She gestured in the opposite direction. “Let’s go,” she said to me and the ever-silent Marta, who nodded.
I had no choice but to follow them. I thought we were going to their tent, but we had a stop to make first—the showers.
Many things, in fact most things, were both communal and outdoors at Tres Hermanas. Including the showers. We found some in a small tree-ringed glade between the residential ring and the main inner road. An area had been dug up, leveled and then a floor of gravel put in place. There were two parallel lines of pipe held up by posts, each pipe with four shower heads. No separate stalls. No privacy. Just an open space where you and seven friends could get naked and bathe under the open sky. With pedestrians strolling past, perhaps pausing to offer commentary or words of encouragement. How delightful.
To Nancy and Marta, it was the norm and not worth commenting on. There were two other women already in there. The area was lit, a
lthough not brightly. A stooped, gray-haired old woman was the worker assigned to the showers, doling out towels, soap and shampoo as needed. Open-ended wooden cubby hole boxes were available to stash your clothes in while you bathed. Nancy and Marta did so and strode naked toward the shower heads, exchanging greetings with the other two already in there.
Gran had taught me that life would offer many experiences. Some good, some bad. Many could be perceived as either good or bad simply depending on one’s point of view. “Adjust your attitude, adjust your outcome” was another one of her sayings.
As I hesitated by the cubbies, I thought: On one hand, a public shower with four other strange women could be considered a total nightmare unless you were an exhibitionist.
On the other hand, it was all women, so who cared, right? It was just skin…
And I was so freaking filthy…
“Hurry up, kid!” Nancy yelled at me. She reached over and turned on the shower between her and Marta, then gestured at me to join them. “You only get five minutes of hot water once you turn it on.”
Modesty, cleanliness and other considerations aside, I recognized that taking a shower would put to rest any doubts about my anatomy and help gain their trust. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be staying—not long, if I had my way—but getting these women to accept me was good strategy. I had no doubt they would accept East. They already had based on the comments at the town meeting. Whether we were guests or captives, it made sense to get along with them. At least for now.
I gritted my teeth, took a big breath and stripped, then walked to the shower head between Nancy and Marta, trying extremely hard not to look at them or the other two. But they were so naked! And so right there! Not that it was the good kind of naked. Far from it, in fact. I tried not to look but couldn’t help but get a few glimpses. Of the four, Nancy had the best body, but although fit and well-muscled, it was a forty-year-old body. Several noticeable scars, surgical and otherwise, crisscrossed her torso and limbs. One unfortunate and accidental glance at Marta’s squat form was more than enough. The other bathers were pale and a bit tubby.
I closed my eyes—tightly—and concentrated on the amazing sensation of hot water and soap suds sluicing down my frame. Looking up was another safe visual option. As I stared at the stars above and pondered just how much had changed for me and East in the past twenty-four hours, I had to take a moment to just be—to enjoy my clean, well-fed body under the cascade of water. And to try not to think about any of them looking at me. Yikes.
The water chose that moment to run cold. I involuntarily yipped and scrambled to turn it off. The old lady was there with a smile, handing me a clean towel for which I thanked her. I wasn’t looking forward to redonning my dirty clothes, but yet another surprise awaited me back at the cubby holes where Nancy and Marta were getting dressed.
“Here,” Nancy said, “these are for you.” She pointed to a neatly folded stack of navy blue sweats and a pair of thick clean socks. “So you can sleep in clean clothes tonight. We’ll get your other clothes washed by the laundry crew, okay?”
Even as she spoke, the old lady was collecting my pile of clothes and taking them away. I hurriedly dressed in the sweats which were too big, but way better than naked. There was a big yellow “Cal” in the center of the chest on the sweatshirt. I didn’t know who Cal was, but silently thanked him or her for the loaner.
It was about a ten-minute hike to their tent’s location in the residential ring. On the way, Nancy explained that many women bunked with their work crews, although it wasn’t mandatory. Couples, women with children and those who preferred solitude had the option to find or build other housing to suit their needs.
“Are you all, uh…” My question lost steam at the end.
“Queer?” Nancy finished for me with a flash of her white teeth. It was fully dark now and I was stumbling along at her side with Marta behind me, all of us following the beam of Nancy’s solar-powered flashlight on a well-trodden dirt path. Every ten yards or so, we would pass another dwelling, most with lights showing and women inside. We collected a lot of “Good night, Sarge!” and “¡Buenas noches, Marta!” along the way.
Was “queer” the word I was looking for? Hell, I didn’t know. But I nodded cautiously at Nancy. Or Sarge. Whatever her name was.
“All women are welcome at Tres Hermanas, Kell,” she told me quietly as we walked along. “Many of us are lesbians. Some prefer the word queer. Some identify as bisexual, transgender, genderqueer, gender non-conforming, asexual. Some prefer not to be burdened with a label. A few are straight who feel more secure and comfortable in a community of women in these challenging times. We’ve taken in lots of stragglers in the last several years. Did I answer your question?”
I nodded, in truth feeling a bit overwhelmed by all that information. But, since she seemed open to my inquiries, I tried another.
“Are you and Marta a couple?”
She smiled at that and said something in Spanish over my head to Marta, who snorted behind me. We were nearly at the end of a row of similar tents which looked semi-permanent—large, sturdy, off-white canvas structures with wooden floors that were built on blocks a few feet off the ground.
“No,” Nancy said. “I met Marta and her sister on the road many years ago, when I was traveling from Oakland to here. We are friends and coworkers, but we’re not a couple. For one thing, I’m gay and Marta’s straight. She lost her husband during the Bad Times. That’s when she and her sister decided to come to Tres Hermanas. It was known as a gathering place and safe haven for women even Before.”
We had reached the last tent. A single light gave off a soft golden glow within. Past the tent, darkness swallowed up the path and the trees. I could hear the wind moving gently through their unseen branches. A gaunt Hispanic woman sat on the steps. She stood as we approached, conferred briefly with Marta, then set off down the path back toward the central area. Marta folded back the tent flap and disappeared inside.
Nancy took a drink from her water bottle and offered it to me. I shook my head.
“How come they call you Sarge?” I asked her. “Were you in the army?”
“Marine Corps,” she said with a hint of pride. And sadness. “And then I was a police officer in Oakland for ten years. You may call me Nancy or Sarge—I answer to both.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Any other questions, chiquita?”
“Where’s my friend?”
“The tents where the kitchen workers sleep are on the other side of the residential ring,” she said, pointing off into the darkness. “I’ll show it to you tomorrow if you like. And don’t worry—you’ll see your friend at meals and during free times. In the morning, though, you start work with us on the Utility crew.”
“What does—”
She cut me off with a tired smile.
“That’s enough for one day, don’t you think? It’s time for sleep now, Kell. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow for more questions and answers. For both of us.”
She pulled back the tent flap and gestured me inside. Two sets of metal bunk beds were on opposite walls. The canvas ceiling was ten feet high—no need to stoop in that tent. Marta and her sister (I presumed) were already ensconced in the top and bottom bunks of one bed. I took the upper on the other since Nancy’s pajamas were laid out on the lower bunk. I was pleased to find mine was already made up with sheets, warm blankets and even a pillow, while Nancy turned out the light and changed into her jammies.
“Good night, Kell,” she said softly. I heard the springs creak as she climbed into the lower bunk.
I lay there with my eyes open, feeling the fatigue hit hard even as a part of me savored the comfortable bed, snug and warm in my blankets. My mind fought to stay awake and make sense of the events of that very long day. I tried to sort out what I was feeling at that moment. Was I afraid? Not exactly…Was I safe? I had no idea. Was I numb? That was more like it. My eyes closed just for a moment and I was gone.
Chapt
er Twenty-seven
Living In Lesbo Town
When I awoke, it was morning, but just. A pale gray light illuminated the interior of the tent. I could see my breath when I exhaled. I sat up and took my first good look around the space in the daylight. Besides the two bunk beds, the walls were lined with a battered chest of drawers, milk crates and wooden boxes for additional storage, three mismatched chairs and a card table. An ancient Turkish rug, fringed and threadbare in tones of blue and red, covered the floor between the bunks. A variety of other personal articles perched on top of the boxes, or hung from the bedposts. Nothing fancy, but it was a cozy, homey place. Close quarters, though, for three—now four—people. It felt odd to have slept indoors again and in a bed no less. I wondered how East was faring.
Marta was just climbing down from her top bunk. Her sister was already up, sitting on the edge of her bed with her hands clasped. She was clearly the younger sister, probably not much older than I was. She was a shorter, rounder version of Marta, just as brown, just as squat, with the same long pigtail down her back. She kept sneaking shy peeks at me, but wouldn’t meet my gaze.
I climbed down too, to find that Nancy’s bed was empty. The tent flap stirred and she came inside, carrying something under her arm.
“Oh, good,” she said when she saw everyone was up. “Kell, I’d like you to meet Marta’s sister, Alma. Alma works with the laundry crew. She doesn’t speak much English.”
“Hola, Alma,” I said, hoping to score style points with Marta who, as usual, paid me no mind. “Me llamo Kell.” My name is Kell.
Of course, then I realized I probably should have kept my rudimentary knowledge of Spanish under wraps. You never knew what might be an advantage. Crap.
Alma giggled and did not reply. Marta, who had swiftly dressed during this exhilarating exchange, said something in Spanish to her sister and the two of them walked out together. Alma looked over her shoulder at me as she went out and waved. Surprised, I belatedly held up a hand, but they were out the door.