by Clare Lydon
Still, she reckoned this lunch might just take her mind off Harriet Locke for a few hours, which was exactly what she needed. Meeting Harriet yesterday had been a jolt to the system, and she still wasn’t sure where she stood. Was she happy they’d reconnected or would she prefer to leave Harriet in the past? It was a tug of war between her heart and her mind, just like always with Harriet.
She took a deep breath, pulled down her black shirt, and walked up to her aunt’s table.
“Aunt Paula?” she said, an annoying waver in her voice.
Be confident, pull your shoulders back.
Aunt Paula looked up, producing a rasping hack of a cough before she spoke, her voice sounding like one of Marge’s sisters from The Simpsons. “Aunt? Nobody calls me that,” Paula said, getting up and grabbing Sally into a bear hug. “So if we’re going to be friends, you’ve got to promise to just call me Paula, okay?”
Sally nodded, winded, as Paula let go and held her at arm’s length.
“Good to see you got the McCall gene with the hair and the eyes, although that mouth is all your mother.” Paula grinned. “How is she these days?”
Sally sat down on the white chair, pulling it under her. “She’s good, she sends her love.”
Paula’s laughter lit up the room like a siren, making more than one head turn. “She does not, but good try. Your mom and I always rubbed each other the wrong way, but I always liked her. She had spunk, which is all a woman needs for me. Don’t you agree?”
Sally nodded, wondering briefly if she needed to answer, but her aunt — rather, Paula — seemed to be waiting till she did.
“Totally. Spunky gets me every time.”
Paula gave her a wicked grin. “Is that so?” she said, taking a sip of her martini. “First things first, you want a drink?”
“Sure,” Sally replied. “I’ll have a Manhattan.”
“Classy,” Paula said. “Don’t drink martinis, they get you drunk far too quickly.” With that, she downed what was left of hers, then flagged down a passing waitress to order herself another, along with Sally’s Manhattan. “We’ll order food soon, too, but let’s get to know each other a little first.
“Tell me, what have you been up to for the past 20 years, apart from figuring out you’re a lesbian?”
Sally choked on her glass of water, spilling it on her lap, convulsing like she was about to die. What was it about water and Paula that always seemed to end with her choking?
A passing waiter offered her a glass of water, along with an extra napkin, clearly afraid she was going to vomit, pass out, or both. Sally waved him away, standing up and leaning over, eventually regaining her breath and her equilibrium.
Across from her, Paula grinned. “Sorry, was that a little too forward?”
Sally smiled, still coughing, her eyes streaming, her face, she imagined, the color of eggplant. “I just wasn’t quite expecting that to come out of your mouth.”
“And I wasn’t quite expecting you to come out, but you did. Not after little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes got married at 24. When Rick told me, I thought you had your whole life mapped out: kids, mortgage, suburbia, the works. But then you dumped your husband and got a girlfriend and I thought: my niece has got spunk.”
There was that word again. Sally hadn’t even been aware her aunt had been keeping such track of her life, assuming that on the few brief meetings they’d had, she’d made zero impression. Apparently not.
“That may be true, but your niece was also an emotional wreck.”
“Yes, but you took charge of your life, steered your own destiny. Not easy to do, ask all the other housewives who are closeted and fucking their best friend, their cleaner, any woman they can get their hands on.”
Sally sat back as the waitress brought their drinks, her ears still ringing, not just from her coughing fit but also from the words falling from Paula’s lips.
When she’d imagined this conversation in her head, she’d had in mind her aunt offering her money for her business in hushed tones, laying out ground rules. Somehow, she doubted this lunch was going to play out that way.
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Sally replied, taking a large gulp of her cocktail.
Paula nodded. “I am. I’ve fucked my fair share of women in closets, but now I’m out and proud.” She furrowed her brow. “Didn’t Rick tell you?”
Sally’s mouth dropped open. Paula was a lesbian? No, her dad had left that pertinent piece of information out of their conversation. Typical Dad. “No, he never did.”
Paula shook her head. “Men,” she tutted. “What is their use?” She paused. “I mean, I think I’ve settled on lesbian as a label now. I was polyamorous for a while, but still only with women. I guess that makes me a lesbian still, right? I had three girlfriends at once and don’t get me started on that — exhausting, I don’t mind saying.”
She’d had three girlfriends? All at once? Sally had never felt like a more inadequate lesbian.
Paula sat forward, wiggling her fingers as she did. “Nervous energy,” she said, holding up her hands. “I gave up smoking, but my hands are still looking for something to do, especially when I drink. My therapist says it’s just a programmed response and I have to fight it, but fuck, I’d give anything for a cigarette right now. And to be able to smoke indoors? Heaven. I went to Japan this year and fuck me if everyone wasn’t smoking indoors? It was like, Japan was built for me, and they like to drink. Perfect! But they kept making me take my shoes off, I wasn’t so down with that.”
She took a breath before continuing. “Did you see the movie Carol? I loved that scene where she takes her for lunch and they just drink martinis, smoke, and eat creamed spinach and eggs. I mean, I was born in the wrong era for boozing, clearly. Not sure I would have liked all the other things about the ‘50s, but you know, if I could pick or choose my era, that’d be the one.
“Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked — it’s a speciality of mine, drives Rick crazy, that’s why he avoids me. Says I’m embarrassing to be out with in public. But you know what I say? Get over yourself, Rick, take your finger out of your butt and lighten up! He’s not so keen on that, but hey. What can I do? I keep him around because he’s my only brother and he amuses me. Plus, he can’t hold his liquor, so he’s always fun to take out and watch him flail after a few drinks. But you know this, I’m sure, he’s your dad!”
“He is, but I rarely see him drunk,” Sally replied. Her dad liked a glass of decent red or a neat single malt, but that was it. After going out with Paula, he probably took the rest of the week off to get over it.
“That’s what I mean, he needs to loosen up! But I digress. I’m not going to beat around the bush — pun intended — but the fact you’re family in every sense of the word makes me want to help you. I made a lot of money in real estate and I’m looking to invest in a business. The money’s there if you want it, because I’d prefer to back my spunky lesbian niece rather than another white boy from Harvard who wants to build an app. Please, spare me.” Paula sat back, narrowing her eyes. “So what do you say, would you like some money from me?”
Sally laughed, shaken up in more ways than one. “When you put it like that,” she said. “But I have conditions. I don’t like taking money, I’m not a trust-fund baby. I want to make it on my own, but I have to admit, a little help would be nice. But if I take the money, it’s a loan I’ll pay back, okay?”
Sally was serious about this. She’d resisted all help before, from both her parents, because she’d always been very clear she wanted to do this on her own, to achieve the American dream of making it big on her own terms. Somehow, this felt different. She hadn’t seen Paula in years, so it was almost the same as borrowing from a bank. Impersonal.
Although she didn’t recall the last time she’d had lunch with her bank manager. The last time her bank manager had put her up in a hotel. The last time her bank manager had drunk two martinis in quick succession and was already signaling for the waiter to get a thi
rd.
“Loan, schmoan,” Paula said, cackling a wicked laugh. “Honey, if it makes you feel better taking my money that way, sure, it’s a loan. You can pay me back whenever. But I just want to see you succeed. And I want to make Rick even prouder of you than he already is, which, by the way, would be quite some feat. That man is getting softer with age, don’t you think? I’ve always thought it, but I think I’m the one who really got the balls in the family, if you know what I mean. Still, I digress again, something for another day.” Another breath. “So, do we have a deal?”
Sally computed in her head all the things she could do with an investment: advertising, outsourcing, scaling up. All those podcasts she’d listened to on how to run a business, she could finally put their advice into practice and start making some money.
She took a deep breath, looked up, and gave her aunt a grin. She needed this money badly, and like her dad said, this was payback time for nearly drowning her when she was five.
“We have a deal,” Sally said, raising her glass to Paula.
“Awesome!” Paula said, clapping her hands together and performing a small whoop. “Did your mom ever tell you about the time I took her to a lesbian strip club? Oh my, you shoulda seen her face, I thought she was going to have a cardiac. But then she had a few drinks and she got into it. Your mom can unwind when she lets herself.”
What the actual fuck? “Please, if we’re going into business, there are some things I’d rather not know — and that was one of them.” Sally closed her eyes and tried not to picture her mom stuffing dollar bills into a dancer’s G-string. It half worked.
Paula grinned. “If we’re going into business, I’m taking you to a lesbian strip club!”
Sally shook her head, laughing despite herself. “It’s more suitable for me than Mom, I’ll give you that,” she said. “Mom really went to a lesbian strip club?”
“Yes!” Paula said. “I mean, I wasn’t even out then, and nobody was catching the clues, not even me. We all thought it was a hoot, sticking money down women’s G-strings. Your mom had a few too many tequilas that night, let’s just say that.”
Sally put up her hand: this was getting a little too much. Surely there was such a thing as over-sharing? “If you tell me she got a lap dance, I might never be able to look at her again.”
Paula chuckled at that. “She did not. I, on the other hand, might have gone behind the curtain.” A smile crossed her face at the memory. “Those gorgeous, jiggly titties in my face might have been my sexual awakening. I’m definitely taking you.”
Sally furrowed her brow: what had she gotten herself into? Then again, she’d never been to a lesbian strip club, so maybe, at the age of 34, it was about time. “I’ll look forward to it,” she said, raising her drink. “But for now, here’s to your loan and to my future success. If I appear on the cover of Forbes magazine, I promise to name-check you, okay?”
“You fucking better,” Paula replied, tapping her glass to Sally’s. “And if you need advice, I’m always on the end of a phone. I’m not just your new investor, I’m invested. And I want to hear all about your business over lunch. Your dad told me you design artsy greetings cards, right? ‘I love you so much’ written in 18-carat gold and all that shit. The ones that cost a fortune?”
“Were those his exact words?”
“I might be paraphrasing,” Paula said with a grin.
Sally plowed on. “With your investment, I want to expand from just cards, designing stationery too, maybe umbrellas and bags as well.”
“Nice, I like it a lot. Creativity is good, you know? It means there’s something inside, which is important. I’m a creative, I understand. Plus, we’re dynamite in bed.”
Sally wasn’t sure how to respond to that, apart from taking another swig of her cocktail, which seemed to please Paula.
“Now, shall we order some food? I’m starving, and then you can tell me about all the beautiful women you’re currently seeing.”
Paula buried her head in the menu, before lowering it slowly and peering over the top.
“You are seeing multiple women, right? Gorgeous young thing like you, the world at your feet? Because business is good, but when all’s said and done, the main things that matter in life are women, wine, and food, am I right?”
Sally blushed, and took another swig of her drink. Multiple women? She didn’t even have time for one. In fact, as Taylor had told her before she came, she needed to get back out there.
“If only the world was that simple,” she replied. “No, I’m totally single and have been for two years.”
Paula looked at her, aghast. “But you’ve had sex in that time, right?”
Sally blushed anew, fiddling with her napkin. This wasn’t the line of questioning she’d imagined with her aunt when she was prepping for today. “I’ve had the occasional hook-up, but I’ve been too busy trying to get my business off the ground.”
Paula shook her head at that. “If I’d have known, we could have hit up some hotspots later.” She paused, knitting her fingers together and resting her chin on her hands. “Are you free tonight?”
Sally shook her head as an image of Harriet Locke dropped into the front of her mind, like a holiday snapshot she’d forgotten taking, all tanned, perky, dimpled. How was it she was so fucking dimpled?
“I’m not, I’m meeting up with an old friend for dinner.”
Paula raised an eyebrow. “An old friend or an old friend?” she asked, pulsing her forehead as she said the final two words. “Don’t worry, you can tell me, I’m not your mom.”
Sally took another swig of her Manhattan, assessed the glass, then finished it. The alcohol had already hit her system, and her limbs felt heavier, her burden lighter. She was on vacation after all, and a little lunchtime drinking and celebration was called for today because this was a big deal getting money for her business.
Oh, and going out with Harriet Locke after almost two decades of nothing.
She smiled at her aunt. “She’s just a friend, an old school friend,” Sally said, feeling her cheeks burn at the lie.
Just an old school friend she’d fucked way back when.
Just an old school friend who made her hair stand on end when she thought of her, as if the intervening years had never happened. As if the catastrophic ending had never happened. Why was her body such a Judas?
“Next time, then,” her aunt said, picking up her menu again. “Or maybe we can go on the prowl in New York when I come and visit you?”
Paula was coming to New York? This was a new turn of events.
But like her mom always told her, there was no such thing as a free lunch.
Chapter Ten
Sally checked her watch and squinted as she tried to figure out what it said.
Shit, she couldn’t even read her watch. She really shouldn’t have tried to keep up with Paula even a little: the woman could drink for America. Whereas Sally had never been a big drinker — she loved whiskey, red wine, and craft beer, but never in huge quantities.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she frowned, pulling it out. She was lying flat on her back, on top of her kingsize bed, but she needed to move because the room had begun to spin. She sat up, wondering if she was about to throw up. Daytime drinking was so bad — if she survived this, she was going to be hungover for her first date with Harriet.
First date? Where had that come from? Somewhere deep in the back of her mind clearly, in a box marked “teenage thoughts”. Also marked “Too painful. Stay away”. She took a deep breath and checked her phone, nausea rising in her.
“Finishing on time today. Shall I pick you up at your hotel at 7.30? X”
She squinted again at the clock at the top of her phone. 5:04. She had a little over two hours to make herself less drunk and presentable. Could she manage that?
“Make it 8. Look forward to seeing you,” she texted back before flopping on the bed again. She did it too quick and the room swayed from side to side. She closed her eyes again.
Her phone beeped once more, but this time it was her dad.
‘Hi sweetie — you made a terrific impression on Paula, but I had no doubt you would. She just called to say she loves you! I hope she wasn’t too much and didn’t make you drink too much, I know how she can be. Talk soon, love you. Dad.’
Sally closed her eyes as another wave of nausea rolled through her.
He had no idea.
Then she clicked back up to Harriet’s message, reading it again, staring at the kiss she’d left on the end. Was that a bit odd, a little forward? She had no idea because Harriet and her were hardly strangers; but then again, as adults, they were. Their history was made when they were both teenagers, but did they have anything in common now? She guessed they were about to find out.
Chapter Eleven
Seventeen years earlier…
A horn sounded outside her house and Sally scrambled to squash her clothes and toiletries into her red weekend bag. She’d been trying to do it unsuccessfully for the past 20 minutes, and now Harriet was outside in her blue Chevy, and she still hadn’t managed it.
“Dammit!” she said, dragging a brush through the unruly red hair she hated — “it’s not red, it’s strawberry blonde!” her mother said — and checking her make-up one final time: lipstick unsmudged, eye shadow on-point, mascara shoveled on to achieve the desired effect. She looked as presentable as she was going to manage today, and that was all she could ask for.
Sally grabbed a spare tote bag from her closet, filling it with her stuff, finally managing to drag the zipper of her weekend bag closed. She gave a sigh of relief as she heard the car horn honk one more time.