“You’re the one that desires everyone but me. I’m sure one of your many playmates will console you,” Kim said, opening the car door.
“What? So, thanks for the memories and that’s it?”
“Exactly,” Kim said, closing the car door. She started the car and shoved it in reverse. She left Ollie standing in the parking lot holding the ring in one hand and the limp roses in the other, looking completely confused. Kim took a deep breath and turned out of the parking lot.
As she drove home she kept telling herself she could do it. I just need something to occupy my time. I need something to do, something big that will keep my mind off her. Kim took the corner of Indian School and Forty-third too fast, sending her backpack flying and scattering her AJN magazines across the back seat.
At the light she tried to shove them back into the bag, noticing the grotesque cover which featured the human heart in all its ugly brilliancy. She sighed heavily and watched a man painting his house. It was a large ranch style house and it looked like he had years of work ahead of him. Now there’s a project, she muttered to herself. A big project, something that will take a lot of time and energy, a project that would exhaust a person. She turned into the parking lot of Home Depot and walked straight to the paint department. She dragged two five-gallon drums of white flat exterior to the paint desk.
“Planning on painting something big, I see,” said the older gentleman behind the counter.
“My house,” Kim said.
“What color would you like?” the man asked.
“The color of the human heart,” Kim said.
“Red?”
“Red.”
“That’s a pretty brave choice,” he said, pulling a sampler of various shades of red.
“Right now I need to be brave,” Kim said, choosing a swatch.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I do.”
One of the stock boys helped her load the paint and Kim didn’t give a thought to unloading it until she had backed her Volvo station wagon into the driveway. She unlocked the side gate and stood pondering her dilemma, thinking that at least the paint was keeping her mind off what had just happened, mainly that she’d finally said goodbye to Ollie. In a simultaneous moment the ting and ping of the mail truck could be heard and then the bang of the dog door as Alfalfa came running out of the house and through the backyard to fulfill her daily ritual of barking at the letter carrier. It took Kim a split second to realize the gravity of the situation and by then it was too late.
“Oh, shit,” Kim said. All she could imagine was Alfalfa biting the letter carrier but when she got around the car she could see her nightmare had not come true. Instead, Alfalfa was lying on her back while the mail lady stroked her stomach.
“I’m so sorry. I know dogs are a postal worker’s nightmare,” Kim said.
“It’s all right. I’ve never seen a Chinese Crested before,” replied the mail lady.
“Most people don’t know what they are. You obviously know your dogs,” Kim said.
“I see a lot of them,” the woman said, handing Kim her mail. Alfalfa licked her leg.
“Stop that. It’s not nice to lick people. She likes sunscreen,” Kim said, grabbing her collar.
“That’s okay.”
“Thanks for being so understanding,” said Kim.
The woman smiled. “No problem.”
Kim went back to her paint problem and Alfalfa went back in the house, leaving her alone with her dilemma. “You’re a lot of help,” Kim called after her. She tugged and pulled and got the paint drum to the very edge of the bumper, almost giving herself a hernia in the process.
The mail lady came up behind her, clearing her throat.
“I couldn’t help noticing . . . would you like a hand?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have been so zealous in my paint choice,” Kim said, glaring at the immovable object that was making her feel completely impotent.
“What you really need is a dolly,” the woman advised.
“Or a decent girlfriend,” Kim muttered before she could stop herself. She knew better than to assume that women in uniform are dykes.
“Dollies are a lot simpler. You can store them in the garage and take them out when you need them. Girlfriends are definitely more work and they refuse to live in the garage,” the woman said, picking up the drum of paint with no problem. “Where would you like it?”
“My goodness you’re strong,” Kim said. “On the back deck please. I could help.”
“Too late.”
The woman moved both of them for Kim.
“Can I at least offer you a soda or an ice tea?”
“Sure, an ice tea please.”
Kim got them both one.
“Thank you,” the woman said.
“Thank you. I’m Kim by way,” Kim said, extending her hand.
“Angel,” the woman replied. “Well, I’d better be off,” she said, checking her watch.
Kim watched Angel walk off, admiring her handsome legs. At least I still have a libido, Kim told herself.
Dr. Kohlrabi was slowly getting used to Mallory sitting upright. She informed herself in her best professional tone that it was a sign of progress. But it still made her uneasy that Mallory’s progress was attached to a woman. It was better for the patient to make peace with their problem and thus find a solution than it was for a placebo effect to occur in its place. Mallory would finally leave her wrecked love affair behind by falling in love with another woman. Dr. Kohlrabi found herself wanting to pray that Del was a wonderful woman who would love Mallory until the end of her days and subsequently cure her. She found this disconcerting because she was an avowed Agnostic.
“How did the date I mean, dinner go?” Dr. Kohlrabi asked.
“I think we can refer to it as a date,” Mallory said, rather calmly.
“As you wish. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes. Although I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning is good,” Dr. Kohlrabi prompted.
“But that would take us back to the very first time I laid eyes on her. I think everything stems from that first moment. It must be what people are describing when they talk about love at first sight. It’s not really love because I don’t think you can love someone without really knowing that person. You know, the other day I was trying to imagine what kind of a place the world would be if there wasn’t this strange energy that we call love. Would we have war, rape, and pillage all the time? Less domestic violence? No divorce, and no broken hearts? Would people still live together or would everyone wander homeless in an emotionally void landscape? What would the world be like?” Mallory asked, looking intensely at Dr. Kohlrabi.
“I honestly don’t know, having never pondered that particular idea,” Dr. Kohlrabi replied, thinking perhaps Mallory should have become a philosopher instead of a vending machine person. Were her talents being wasted? She did seem content in her work. Overly bright patients made her nervous. They were the maladjusted people because they thought about things only her nameless, faceless entity she no longer called God should ponder. Existential questions were best laid buried as they did with most people. Thinking too much never did anyone any good.
“So back to the beginning.”
“When I first saw her, when she leaned over to look at me after I fainted, it was like one finger of my soul gently reached out and touched her soul like how you would touch frog eggs, being uncertain of their constitution you would approach them cautiously,” Mallory said, holding out her forefinger like something akin to E.T. with his long skinny wrinkled finger.
Dr. Kohlrabi nodded.
“And I think her squishy matter did likewise. That, I think, is the energy a love affair can build on. That is what people are always looking for. They want connection with one special person. When Del looks at me I feel it.”
“Do you like that?” Dr. Kohlrabi inquired.
“Yes, but it frightens me,” Mallory said
, remembering about dinner and the high flush her face had as she sat across the candlelit dinner table, set with flowers and drinking horribly expensive wine. Del had also bought cigars for after dinner.
“Cigars?” Mallory had asked, when Del handed her the neatly wrapped package.
“It’s the boy thing. See, after we’ve survived my overdone attempt at romance then we can congratulate ourselves on a job well done. It’s to make you forget these indulgences I’m putting you through.”
“I’m not entirely certain I’m the only crazy one here,” Mallory said, sticking the flowers in a heavy glass cruet, evening them out so they sat pretty.
“The trappings are nice as are the flowers, and a person striving to regain their tainted innocence should be allowed such indulgences. Don’t you agree?” Mallory said.
“Yes, definitely. Shall I open the wine?” Del asked, getting suddenly nervous now that the longed for date was in progress.
Mallory smacked her in the shoulder, hard.
Del looked alarmed. “What was that for?” she said, rubbing her shoulder.
“You’re making me nervous because you’re nervous. That was to shock you out of it. Just think of this as lunch,” Mallory advised, handing her the wooden corkscrew she had stolen from her father’s well stocked bar years ago. It was the only thing she took from the house when she moved out that terrible summer her mother found out she was a lesbian.
“I don’t want this to be lunch,” Del said, trying to rapidly find words for how she was feeling.
“Because you desire a different menu?” Mallory queried, taking the bottle of wine from Del who was botching it up. She neatly extracted the cork.
“How you torment me,” Del said, taking a sip of dark burgundy.
“Do you like being tormented?” Mallory asked.
“Only if I shall someday be released,” Del replied.
Mallory smiled. “I think you’ll like the menu.”
And then they had a lovely dinner, Mallory mused as she sunk back into the oversized cushions of Dr. Kohlrabi’s couch.
“We sat outside and smoked cigars and looked at the stars because Del has been studying them because she knows I like to do that. I think that’s really sweet and it made me feel special and without the accompanying notion that I would have to give something in return. It was a pure altruistic gesture because she knows it will be eons before we go to bed,” Mallory said.
“Are you going to go to bed with her?”
“Yes, I think I will,” Mallory replied matter-of-factly.
“Just like that?” Dr. Kohlrabi asked, shocked that Mallory would be considering such a thing.
“No, not just like that. What I mean is that I can envision us being in love someday.”
“Are you going to wear clothes?”
“Someday.”
“What about the thing with Caroline? Are you over her?”
“I’m started to realign myself with it,” Mallory replied cautiously.
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“I think this is rather sudden. I want you to be careful.”
“Because you don’t trust Del?”
“I’m concerned that you are using Del as a distraction from the original problem.”
“I’m not. I am simply learning to go on with my life. I’m sure Caroline is not sitting around pining over me. Why should I pine for her?”
“You shouldn’t,” Dr. Kohlrabi replied.
“Exactly.”
Mallory stood up and began to take off her pajamas. She had been contemplating this moment since dinner with Del. She had felt funny in her pajamas like she was cheating on Del because she was still mourning her love affair with Caroline. Suddenly, she wanted her tainted innocence to be renewed. She wanted a new life devoid of anything old to remind her of the painful past she had begun to leave behind. It seemed wearing pajamas was holding her back. She saw the cowgirl maverick in the Republic, holding the bridle of the horse that wanted to go free. She let go and they both watched the horse gallop across the golden field. Mallory knew it was time.
“What are you doing?”
“Shedding my former life,” Mallory said, stripping down to her underwear. “I think I’ve had enough for today. We’ll talk next week.”
She left Dr. Kohlrabi with a pile of pajamas in the middle of her office. Her secretary stood in the hallway, hand on one hip and a quizzical expression on her face.
“What was that?” the secretary asked, motioning to the woman who just left in her underwear.
“I believe that was progress,” Dr. Kohlrabi said, picking up the shorn clothing.
“I see.”
“Do you?” Dr. Kohlrabi asked, realizing she was slipping into one of Mallory’s rhetorical devices.
“No, I will never understand crazy people,” her secretary replied, going off to answer the telephone.
Gigi sat in her mother’s kitchen listening to a familiar litany of complaints concerning the cares of a mother for her depraved daughter.
“For the love of Christ, topless badminton,” her mother ranted.
“You’re using the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Don’t quote scripture to me young lady,” her mother replied, snapping the top of Gigi’s head with a spatula. She then flipped the pork chops.
“Ouch! I hate when you do that,” Gigi said, rubbing the top of her head. “You should really wash that spatula before you use it. I have a lot of gel in my hair.”
“And I hate when you visit that heathen sister of mine. I strictly forbid it.”
“You can’t forbid me to do anything. I’m a grown-up now, or did you forget?”
“Not one day goes by that I forget anything about you including those acts against God which I’m sure you commit hourly,” Rose replied, trying to keep images of her daughter fornicating with another woman out of her head. That was the difficulty of being God-fearing—all of the images of lust that constantly barraged the clean mind of a clean-living person. Why, oh why, did her daughter not grow up to be a nun?
“I wish I had sex that often. Unfortunately I don’t have the means, the partner, or the energy to do it. What sort of a thought is that for a good Christian woman to be having anyway?”
“Why couldn’t you have become a nun and practiced celibacy if you can’t be a normal person like the rest of us?”
“There are lesbian nuns, lots of them. That’s what happens when you put a bunch of women together. Then I would have further disgraced you by being a religious pervert. If I were you I would thank my lucky stars that I chose to be a safe sex salesperson at a porn shop,” Gigi replied.
Her mother crossed herself three times as giant dildos danced around in her head with accompanying visuals of her daughter selling the batteries.
Gigi’s father, Ralph, had the misfortune to smell dinner and wander into his wife’s domain.
“This is all your doing. This perversion, the pariah of the Lord’s words,” Rose said, waving the greasy spatula between her daughter and her husband.
Ralph looked at Gigi sympathetically, knowing that once again she had come for dinner but judging from the conversation she would not be staying long enough to get anything to eat. He would always try to slip her cash. Buy a hamburger, he’d tell her. She would gently push the cash back into his hand, telling him she had a girlfriend of means. She wouldn’t go hungry. Still the sad look in her eyes mirrored the failure in his. Once she had told him the world wouldn’t always be like this; it would get better for her kind, or they’d kill her off; either way, the hate would end, liberating both sides. He never knew how to take this.
“How can it be his fault? You were my supposed role model. I’m your issue,” Gigi countered.
“Bad blood, that’s what it is,” Rose ranted, slapping the pork chops in the middle of the table.
“Your sister is a dyke, the blood is on you,” Gigi said.
“Get out of my house right this minute!” Rose screamed.
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“Fine. I wasn’t hungry anyway,” Gigi said, getting up abruptly.
“I’m going to report you and the rest of those perverts in Yarnell. You wait and see, I’m going to foil all their attempts. If I have my way Dr. Jerry Falwell will be leading the crowd of true believers down the streets of Yarnell,” Rose screamed, slamming a clenched fist down on the table with the gleam of the righteous in her eyes.
“You do have a spy,” Gigi said, smiling.
“Get out of my house!”
“You better warn her before we do,” Gigi said.
Fran picked up the phone, sticking a finger in her left ear so she could hear Gigi over the mariachi band that was playing for the salsa lessons.
“You did what?” Fran screamed into the phone.
“I found the spy. It’s Ethel Hayes.”
“Ethel? Are you sure?”
“I got her number off redial from my mother’s phone after an altercation in which she revealed certain information. It has to be Ethel. We should test it first to make sure,” Gigi said.
“By goddess, you are a sharp one. I know just the test. Are you coming down this weekend?”
“Sure, if you want to me to.”
“I do and bring Mallory. We’ve got stuff to cover.”
“What is all that noise?” Gigi asked.
“We’re taking salsa lessons,” Fran said.
“That must be quite a sight,” Gigi said, laughing.
“All you got to do is pretend you’re holding a poop in, which for most of us is always an issue, and shake your hips. We’ll give you a demo when you get here.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Four
The George and Dragon pub was packed for lunch and for the life of her Buffy Simpson could not understand why Mallory insisted they have their weekly lunches here instead of the club. Mallory hadn’t set foot in the club since she turned eighteen and now refused to go back because they had fired her tennis instructor for being gay. She would not go back into the club until they added sexual orientation to their employment mission statement.
In the interim Buffy was forced to go to less than reputable places. Once they had gone to Sweet Tomatoes and she had been horrified to discover that she was at a self-serve salad bar. She felt like a pig at the trough. After that debacle, Mallory had agreed that they would go to places that at least had wait staff.
Saxon Bennett - Talk of the Town Page 7