“The crud, Bradley?! These are mine!” She yanked the books roughly into her arms, knocking a boob loose from her toga and a foot loose from the table.
“You’re ready to use the last one already? You sure?” Bradley smiled, not looking away from the corny fight on screen except for a brief leer at her breast.
“Clearly you misunderstood me.” Vanessa stomped into the bedroom, dusting bits of garlic and sesame and poppy seeds off the cover of the books as she went. She set the books gently on the top of her dresser, then went to the small bathroom, still partially wrapped in the stinky sheet.
The hot water was delightful. Vanessa washed her hair in the least fruity bottle of shampoo, one that was sort of, and only vaguely sort of, mango scented. For washing her body and the sheet, she chose the almond shampoo. Its strong scent would mask the smell of condoms and the smell of Bradley better than the other fragrances. She scrubbed the sheet, wrung it out, and draped it over the shower door. Then she thought, “Costa Rican Javier” and lost track of time in the streams of thought and water.
When Vanessa got back to the living room, Bradley was wearing socks and a pair of greenish coveralls embroidered with the name, Hal. He looked like he was about to go foraging.
“You going out?” She asked, much more relaxed after her shower daydreams.
“Yeah. Amber called while you were in the shower, which, thanks for using all the hot water in there, by the way, and she said she found a couple of pear and plum trees behind some of the foreclosed places in Snootsville.” Snootsville was Bradley’s none-too-clever name for one of the larger developments of larger homes in the southern part of Durham. “She’s going to give me a ride over there.”
“Okay.”
“You know, Vanessa,” Bradley said more quietly, stepping closer to her, “I had wanted you to give me a ride this morning. What happened?”
“I had to wash the sheet.”
Bradley stepped back, brows knit. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“We made the whole bed smell like rubber. I had to wash the sheet in the shower. That’s why I took so long.”
Bradley gave her an appraising look, clearly unconvinced. He slipped on some sandals over his socks and walked to the door. Then he turned to face her again.
“Look, Ness, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the condoms sooner. I wanted to surprise you. The thing is, Amber got a new job as receptionist at Planned Parenthood. She’s been slipping me condoms all week.”
“Three condoms, Bradley? All week?”
“Some of them were flavored.”
“I see.”
“Fruit flavored.”
“Let me guess. Pear and plum flavored? In the back yards of some McMansions?”
“No. There’s real fruit there. But yes, Amber has been giving me head for a few days. I wasn’t cheating on you, though. No vag.”
“Get out, Bradley.”
“You never give me head, Ness. And you know how nervous I get about screwing. It takes me so long, I worry about breakage. I just -” he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end, “-I just don’t want to jack up the earth by breeding, you know?”
“Bradley.” Vanessa ran her hands through her wet hair, looking at Bradley’s downturned chin and eyes. He was clearly ashamed of himself, the selfish prig. She sighed, softening toward Bradley. She picked up the condom and walked to him.
Vanessa lifted Bradley’s hand and pressed the condom into his palm. Then she closed his hand and kissed his knuckles.
“It’s over, Bradley. No hard feelings.”
“No hard feelings?”
“None. Thanks for a mostly good year and a half.”
“Same.”
“When you get back, I’ll have all your stuff outside the door. See if you can stay with Amber.”
“What?! Wait. If you broke up with me, I was going to see if we could keep the place.”
“You wanted to bring Amber here?”
“Well, yeah. I found most of the stuff here. Well, most of the cool stuff, anyway. I was going to ask Amber to move in here with me next week.”
“Were you?”
“It’s not like you can’t afford a better place. You make way more than me, Ness, plus all those drunk-guy tips.”
“Oh my God, Bradley! I work four times as much as you. And this is MY apartment. You moved in with me a year ago, not the other way around. It’s all mine—the utilities, the rent, the fridge which you refused to help me buy on the basis of not wanting to spend any money whatsoever on anything that isn’t absolutely necessary. Including condoms, you, you philanderer! So get your mooching butt out of my apartment, and go screw your free condom supply new girlfriend!”
Bradley looked pissed, but he didn’t say anything. He just turned and opened the door.
“The key, Bradley!” Vanessa held out her hand. Bradley unpinned the key from his coverall and handed it to her. He had never even bought his own keychain. He had left the freaking key on the safety pin she had attached before she gave it to him. It used to be her jogging house key.
Bradley left, his footsteps unabashedly swift on the wooden staircase outside. Vanessa’s ears rang with the silence in the house. She started gathering Bradley’s crap together by the door.
After thirty minutes, she had assembled all of his things. She started chunking stuff into gently used black trash bags, most of which still smelled of bagels. When the junk was packed, all the way down to the suspicious towel, Vanessa sat on the couch and glared at the bags by the door. The Jerk probably wanted her to give him half the food they had gathered the previous night. That was the sort of thing Bradley cared about, his version of fairness. He thought it was fair to ask her to get sterilized, but he would be ticked off if she kept his half of the burrito supplies.
When Amber’s bronze clunker pulled up at the curb, Vanessa shoved Bradley’s stuff out the door onto the landing. She expected that pushing his crap over the threshold would be the end of the ordeal, a sort of perverse rebirth. She began to compliment herself on referencing the cycles of earth to cope with distress, but was cut short by a tap at the door.
It was Bradley. He held out a sack of plums to her.
“Peace offering. Let’s not end things fighting.”
“Thanks, Bradley,” Vanessa said wearily, taking the proffered bag. She half smiled and went to shut the door.
“Wait. Ness, there’s one more thing.”
“Yes?” She peeked through the crack in the door.
“My Kung Fu DVDs. One of them is still in the player.”
Vanessa shut the door and locked it.
“Seek detachment, Grasshopper,” she called.
Bradley whined a bit on the stoop before he gave up, but Vanessa did not hear him. She was singing along to Ella Fitzgerald, matching volume with the shoddy player’s loudest setting.
Chapter Two
Fructus
Vanessa winced into the morning glare. The seal had busted on the growlers last night, and all the bartenders got to take a couple home. Vanessa drank half a growler in a moping fit way past closing time in her apartment. She would pay for it all morning.
As soon as Vanessa walked up the steps to the old tobacco office building turned bookstore turned community center, she heard the usual ruckus. The sound of an argument grew louder as a door opened onto the hall. A few Spanish cusses preceded the beautiful dark head that poked out of the door.
“Órale, Nessa! Hey, you look hungover!” The woman ducked back into the room and shouted, “Hey, cariños, Nessa is hungover!” Before Vanessa could finish wincing at the volume, the woman was standing in the hall, facing her with hands on hips. “Come here, mija.” She smooched Vanessa’s cheek, then squeezed her face for good measure before stepping back and ushering her into the room.
“Hi, Carla. Just half a growler, but you know me.”
“Ladies,” Carla gestured grandly toward Vanessa, “You are looking at the only bartender in the ciudad
with no alcohol tolerance.”
“Hola, chica,” Gabriel got up and hugged Vanessa. “What happened this time? Did you suck on someone’s olives?”
The other women cracked up laughing.
“Dios mio, y’all. I mean the martini olives. God. But chica, seriously, did you suck on someone’s olives? I mean, you are a single lady now!” Gabriel patted Vanessa on the back, then handed her a coffee.
The women were seated in a room usually used for group therapy sessions for bipolar adolescents and tweens that cut. Sunday mornings, though, you would never suspect as much. Carla and Gabi always arrived an hour early and festooned every surface with beautiful cloths. Half an hour later, Squeak and Perla arrived with baked goods and a couple of carafes of Finnish coffee. Vanessa, who tended bar till three a.m. most Saturday nights, was almost always the last of the regulars to show up.
While Vanessa chose a pastry from a heavy laden tray, the other women bickered.
“Why won’t you just admit it was you already?” Gabi hollered, poking Squeak in the leg with a toe.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Squeak focused on a lurid flower blooming from her crochet hook.
“Ay, mija, let her be,” Carla chided. “It may not have been Squeak. She was on call this weekend. Probably she was catching babies while it happened.”
“Thank you, Carla,” Squeak replied, not looking up from her work.
Vanessa sipped her coffee and chewed a cheese Danish quietly for a minute. Then she realized that Perla was staring at her. A moment later, everyone fell silent, watching Perla watch Vanessa.
“Well, what do you see?” Squeak broke the silence. Her real name was Brigit, but she had made the mistake of calling herself mousey at her first meeting. Carla never passed up an opportunity to nickname.
Perla took several deep breaths, then leaned toward Vanessa. Vanessa was used to Perla’s gift, so she kept eating. The sooner her stomach was full, the sooner her hangover would pass. In theory.
“You are in love,” Perla pronounced with certainty.
The other women burst out talking at once. “I’m so happy for you,” and “When did this happen?,” and “Is he good in bed?” all competed for Vanessa’s attention. Before she could answer, the door opened. The group fell silent.
“Is this Fructus? I’m here for the women’s group meeting. It was in the Independent?” A red haired, tall woman with pale skin entered the room. She looked at each person in turn. They returned the favor. Carla thought this might be a good sort of niña. Gabi thought the new woman had great taste in red shoes. Squeak felt a flush come over her face. Perla was looking within and did not much notice the intruder.
Vanessa, who felt as though she had been saved by the new woman’s entrance from having to spill about the scrapbooks, answered first. “Yes, this is Fructus. We were just getting started. I’m Vanessa. Hi.” Vanessa stood up and half hugged the new woman.
“Persephone. But you can call me Percy.”
The other women spoke their names and shook Percy’s hands or hugged her.
“As I was saying,” Squeak piped up, setting aside a huge crocheted blossom, “It’s hard to find a lover who knows what to do with an elastic hymen. Most guys come immediately because of the squeeze, and most women manhandle me. I’m so sex starved, I could scream already.” Squeak spoke nonchalantly, looking at her crochet project all the while. The women of Fructus had a rule for testing newcomers. They took turns telling awkward stories whenever a stranger showed up to a meeting. Some graduate students stuck it out for two meetings in an effort to prove their sophistication, but most of them never returned.
There was a silence after Squeak spoke as all the women watched for Percy’s reaction. Percy watched the double crochets fly from Squeak’s hands, then sat down next to her. She leaned toward Squeak, close enough that Squeak blushed heavily and had to pause her crochet.
“You shouldn’t starve yourself,” Percy said, quietly and low, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Let me get you a pastry,” Gabi offered. Perla brought Percy a coffee, and the women sat back in their circle.
“So, did you wrap it and tap it last night, or what?” Gabi asked Vanessa, who choked on her coffee.
“What? No! I wish. No.”
“Then who’re you in love with, mija?” Carla asked.
“Costa Rican Javier,” Vanessa said into her coffee.
“Quién? Do we know him, mija?” Carla asked Gabi. Then to Percy, Carla explained, “Gabi here is my daughter. She’s a luchadora, a Mexican wrestler. But we know all the good Central American guys. They all want to screw my kid, so I make it my business to know them.”
“Ma, please. No, we don’t know him. Let Vanessa tell us. Look, you embarrassed the crap out of her.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Vanessa said. “I wish there was, but he’s just a guy I saw in a scrapbook.”
“Did you dig him?” Perla asked. To Percy, she said, “Vanessa here is a dumpster digger.”
“A freegan, Perla! Don’t be crass,” Squeak corrected. “For being so sensitive, you can be pretty insensitive.”
“Well, it’s not like I don’t support her one hundred percent.” Perla looked at Vanessa earnestly and said into her face, “One hundred and ten percent, Vanessa. I believe in you. And I believe in this Costa Rican Joaquin of yours, too.”
“Javier.”
“Yes, him. Which reminds me, I brought you a little something,” Perla handed across a paper bag filled nearly to the top. “Here, go through it. Make sure it’s the kind you like.”
Vanessa pulled the first item out of the bag. It was a new box of flannel menstrual pads for heavy days. The women “oohed” and “aahed”. There was ibuprofen, and three new bras, two vintage hankies in the style Vanessa liked, and four boxes of condoms. One box held regular sized, and the other three were sized large.
“Oooh! That’s awesome, mija! Your next man is going to be big, you know what I mean. Those big ones with the polyurethane are good for if he’s allergic to the regular ones or you want to avoid flavors.”
“Ma, like you know. You and Marian have been together since I was five.”
“But I had your father. And he had big feet, you know what I mean? That’s how I knew for sure I was a lesbian. If his thing wasn’t doing it for me, no one’s would.”
“Too much información, Ma. Silencio! Gah.”
“Well, she’s right,” Perla chimed in. “I see great sex in your future. It’s going to blow your horizons.”
Vanessa’s shoulders sagged, “Perla, thanks. But you know I’m a freegan, right? I’m really not supposed to buy new things.”
“That stupid Ally been talking at you again? Want me to mess her up a bit?”
“No, Gabi. I mean, yes. Ally has been on my case because of all the new stuff I have. But no, don’t mess her up.”
“Listen, mija, you don’t need to let her in your house. How’s she gonna know what stuff you have?”
“She’s my oldest freegan friend. And now that Bradley’s off with his new buddy Amber, I don’t have a lot of other options for foraging partners.”
“All’s I can say to that is, she doesn’t have to go through your stuff, hermana,” Gabi crossed her arms, flexing her tight biceps.
“Look, Vanessa, the stuff is free. A gift from me to you. Tell that Ally that you had to accept it. It’s a mitzvah. I want to do this for you. You are like my daughters, all three of you,” Perla gestured to include Gabi and Squeak. “How can she deny an old woman her little joys, eh?”
“Perhaps,” Percy spoke up, “you need a new partner.”
“What are you saying?” Squeak asked, looking up from her work. She had reddened at the word, “partner.”
“Well, if Vanessa will have me, I’m game. I’ve been saying all year that I want to go more green. Why not this way?”
“Um, okay. Where do you live?”
“Trinity Park. And I have a Prius, so you
don’t have to feel guilty if you need to hitch a ride.”
“Meet me at the Whole Foods café on Tuesday at 6?”
“I’m there.”
“Great. So we’ve gotten Vanessa sorted. She’s got a new digging partner, or harvester or what have you. And she’s about to encounter a Costa Rican with, um, big feet. What’s our topic this week?” Squeak asked, having apparently crocheted away her earlier timidity in Percy’s presence.
“Let’s talk about how we can use our menstrual flow to fertilize the garden!” Perla spoke up. “I just read this article about it yesterday. Here, let me get it.”
Before Perla could retrieve her article, Carla interjected. “Ay, we always talk about our periods. Let’s talk about something else. Percy, have you got something to say?”
“Well,” Percy answered, looking at Squeak intently, “I’m curious. Have any of you noticed the bull statue?”
“Yeah, Squeak,” Gabi said significantly, “Have you noticed the bull statue?”
Vanessa squinted at Gabi in confusion. They had developed an unspoken language as college roommates years before, and employing it was the fastest way for Vanessa to get an explanation.
“Someone,” Gabi nodded toward Squeak, “covered the bull statue in a floral body suit.”
“Why do you think it was me? Probably just someone who took my patterns off Ravelry,” Squeak spoke around a crochet hook tucked in her lips as she held up two garish pink yarns in front of her. Percy pointed to one, and Squeak blushed, putting away the other ball.
“And by floral,” Gabi continued as if she had not been interrupted, “I mean covered in huge crocheted flowers just like those made by a certain someone in this room.”
“Anyone can make a crocheted flower, Gabi,” Vanessa said, smirking at Squeak. “They aren’t that difficult.”
“Thank you, Vanessa. Exactly. It’s like I said before, someone probably just copied my pattern off of Knitpicks.”
“You said Ravelry before,” Percy spoke quietly.
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