“I have to tell you something, something that Alex doesn’t know and shouldn’t know,” Gigi started. “Remember the party where Kim got really angry with Ollie and threw her out, well earlier that night something happened between Ollie and I, something . . . sexual, something more than a kiss. We were getting high in the van and next thing I know we were doing it. I was so nervous but I still did it and now I’m really scared that Alex is going to find out. It only happened that once and I regret it but I can’t undo the fact that I fucked another woman and that was what it was—fucking, pure and simple lust incarnate and now . . . now I don’t know what to do. What do you think I should do?”
Silence.
“It’s not like we were having an affair. It’s more like an isolated incident and believe me I’m not proud of it. Mallory?”
Mallory rolled over and made murmuring noises. She’d been asleep the whole time.
Shit! Gigi thought, like I’m going to be able to muster up the courage to do that again. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Aunt Lil because she was too ashamed. It appeared she would have to bear the burden of her own guilt, as her mother would say. What a sad state of affairs when she found herself quoting her mother, Gigi thought, rolling over.
Maybe Alex would never find out and she could spend the rest of her life trying to make it up to her. Ever since the thing with Ollie, Gigi hadn’t even looked at another woman and her desire to flirt had become nonexistent. Alex noticed the change. Gigi told her she was growing up. Alex looked at her uneasily. Gigi tried to brush it off, telling her she finally realized what a wonderful woman her partner was. Alex gave her an even odder look and went off to load the dishwasher.
Gigi could hear the phrase echoing in her head, once a dog always a dog. Could she change the inevitable? Lesbians need a patron saint. We could call her Saint Vulva. She was having thoughts like her mother’s. How disgusting. Gigi groaned and tried to fall asleep.
Del sat across the table from Mallory at the Orbit Cafe. She was covering shifts for Dr. Lee and so her days and nights were full. Lunch was the most she and Mallory could squeeze in. Mallory was telling her stories about Yarnell.
“So they know for sure who the spy is,” Mallory said, in between bites of her grilled mushroom sandwich.
“How did they do that?” Del asked, seriously wondering if having the tuna sandwich was such a good idea after all.
“Aunt Lil leaked the idea to the spy, telling her that there was to be a ritual goddesslike mass held at the old grange hall up on the hill behind the trailer court where everyone would consort in utter nakedness in worship of the goddess. The spy then relayed the information to Gigi’s mother, Rose, who called the police. When the squad cars got there they found Aunt Lil and her cronies holding a bake sale.”
Del was laughing so hard she nearly choked on her tuna sandwich.
“Are you all right?” Mallory asked in alarm as Del gulped water and tried to get her breath back.
Del nodded, wiping the tears out of her eyes. “I can just see the look on those police officers’ faces when they raided the bake sale.”
“Aunt Lil says the local police have been trying to figure out what all those old ladies at the trailer court are up to but aside from a few misdemeanors here and there they can’t get them on much,” Mallory said.
“What kind of misdemeanors?”
“They sent Anita Bryant a rainbow colored set of dildos, the President a box of cigars with pubic hair attached, Jerry Falwell a leatherman Billy doll, Senator Jesse Helms twenty-five ten-gallon drums of urine just for starters,” Mallory replied, matter-of-factly. “And that was only their mailing campaign.”
“Holy shit!” Del said. “You’re not going to get thrown in jail are you?”
“Will you post bail?” Mallory asked, getting the check.
Del smiled. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Good, let’s go,” Mallory said, getting up.
“I still have some time before I have to go back to work,” Del said, taking a last bite of her sandwich as Mallory pulled her out of her chair.
“I know.”
Mallory parked back by the loading dock of the hospital. She turned the car off and looked at Del expectantly.
“What’s up?” Del asked.
“Can I kiss you?” Mallory asked.
“I just had a fish sandwich,” Del replied, wishing she had taken the time to grab a mint at the restaurant but Mallory had been in such a hurry to get out of there.
“Open wide,” Mallory said, shooting Del with Binaca.
“You think of everything.”
“Not everything. I should have told you not to order the tuna.”
“True,” Del said, feeling Mallory draw her close, her lips and tongue against her own.
Kim walked out the employee entrance just as Del was getting out of Mallory’s car. She was tucking in her shirt and she had a generally disheveled look about her. Kim smiled. At least somebody was getting some action.
“You need some time off,” Kim teased, doing up one of Del’s buttons.
“I need a cold shower,” Del said.
“There is nothing quite like the early days of love,” Kim said.
“Speaking of that how are you and Angel doing?” Del asked, attempting to appear nonchalant.
“There is no Angel and I. There is Angel who delivers my mail and there is Angel I played pool with once.”
“And there’s Angel who is taking you to the postal picnic,” Del said.
“It’s a buddy-date,” Kim replied.
“That’s what you say,” Del said.
“What? You know better,” Kim said, trying not to blush.
“I just think you two would make a cute couple, that’s all,” Del said.
“We’ll see.”
***
At the post office Sally peeked around Angel’s case. Angel was putting Advo cards up and listening to Barry White on her headphones. Sally swatted her hard on the head with a rolled up magazine.
Angel yanked her one of her earplugs out. “That hurt!”
“It was supposed to,” Sally said, putting the magazine back.
“Not to mention that was blatant disregard of postal property,” Angel said, picking the magazine back up and trying to smooth out the cover. Mr. Earl was extremely particular about the shape his mail was in when it arrived. Angel discovered that her second day on the route when he ripped her a new asshole for cramming the mail into his wall slot. They had since come to an understanding and now she put his magazines neatly in a wooden box by the front door.
“Are you going to the picnic?” Sally asked.
“Why do you want to know?” Angel countered.
“Because Alicia wants to know.”
“Did it ever occur to either one of you that I don’t want to date fellow postal workers or anyone I play soccer with. Those are two no-no’s in my book because when things go wrong, it’s hard to go to work and I have to switch soccer leagues.”
“So you’re not going to the picnic,” Sally said.
“As a matter of fact I am going,” Angel said, smiling.
“Why bother if you don’t date postal workers?”
“Because I’m bringing a date,” Angel replied.
“You are? Who?” Sally said, curiosity lighting up her face.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Angel teased.
Sally went to grab a magazine when Dick the supervisor came by and growled at her to get back to her case. Angel smiled sweetly at him. He loved her because she ran her ass off and did more relays than anyone else. She could do no wrong.
“If I could get that mouth of hers to deliver mail we could get rid of five PTF’s,” Dick said.
They both laughed.
“Imagine if we could harness it as a power source,” Angel replied.
“Like a windmill, jaws flapping in wind,” Dick said. “Hey, thanks for helping out the other day. We need more people like you and less
like her. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks,” Angel said, watching him limp off to retrieve the salami sandwich he’d left at his desk.
The pile on the bed looked like something at a rummage sale as Kim tried on yet another outfit. She looked at herself in the mirror and then looked at her print of Angel’s torso on her wall. What was this perfectly darling woman doing being interested in her? She walked into the living room and sat dejected on the couch. How did she ever think she could date someone like Angel. Ollie had always made her feel so unattractive, so less cute, darling, stunning than all the other women. And now Angel—model, artist, fame-and-fortune woman —was hanging around and Kim knew she wasn’t up to another relationship that made her feel so inadequate. It was hopeless.
Kim jumped when the doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. Holy shit! It was one o’clock and the front door was open with only a screen between Angel and herself, and she was only wearing shorts and a sports bra. It wasn’t like she could slink by Angel to grab a shirt. She stood up and answered the door.
“You look lovely,” Angel said, coming in.
Kim smiled, her shoulders drooping. “I can’t figure out what to wear, so needless to say I’m not dressed.”
“You could wear what you have on,” Angel offered, “with a liberal dose of sunscreen.”
“This isn’t funny. I’m having a crisis here.”
“Why?”
“Because it always seems like everyone else is so fucking beautiful and then there’s me,” Kim said, walking off toward the bedroom and her heap of discarded clothing. Angel grabbed her arm.
“Wait a minute. Who made you think you’re not beautiful?”
“Every white girl in the world, every ad, every blond-haired, blue-eyed, big-breasted woman, every stunning supermodel, every cover of Curve, Out, and Cosmo, and my last blond-haired, blue-eyed girlfriend, that’s who,” Kim said, slumping down on the bed.
“Just for the record, Latinos aren’t exactly icons of beauty either according to mass culture,” Angel said, picking up shirts and looking at them.
“But look at that,” Kim said, pointing to the print of Angel’s torso.
“That is good photography,” Angel said, choosing a shirt.
“Next you’ll be telling me it’s been airbrushed.”
“No, but have you ever seen that ad in Curve with Melissa Etheridge and her girlfriend . . . the one for PETA. Now that one has been airbrushed. So you see the old cliché is true. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and lesbians are just as fucked up as everyone else. Why didn’t they leave Melissa with her big, old, fat butt? Because everyone wants that magazine kind of look but it doesn’t truly exist. We are what we are. And you are the picture of beauty. It’s all in the presentation and the belief.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No. Here. Wear this one. It’s a nice color. I have a passion for azure so humor me,” Angel said, pulling Kim up from the bed and slipping it over her head.
“So this shirt is going to make me beautiful?”
“No, our combined faith does. Now come on. We don’t want to miss the sack race do we?”
“The one I wear over my head,” Kim muttered.
Angel gave her a disapproving look.
“It’s not vanity you know. It’s about how the world treats people who are pretty,” Kim continued.
“Only while they are young and beautiful. When they get old they are tedious and vain and no one gives them the time of day anymore.”
“It’s lookism you know.”
“Are you always this freaky before you go to a picnic?”
“Only if it’s a gay and lesbian event.”
“Which is most of what we do,” Angel said.
“I know. I must have an ugly personality disorder,” Kim said, locking the front door.
“I’ll cure you of it,” Angel said.
“How are you going to do that?” Kim said, getting in the door-less Jeep and suddenly wondering if anyone had ever fallen out of the extremely high four-wheel-drive vehicle with large, knobby tires.
“Tell you you’re beautiful every day and if I ever get the chance to do something really nasty to that ex-girlfriend of yours I won’t hesitate because I’m inclined to think she’s the one behind this.”
“You’re probably right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a twit, it’s just that it’s hard to know where you fit in an alternate culture because the rules are not clearly defined.”
“And that’s what makes it fun, confusing, liquid, empowering and destructive. We are what we make ourselves. Did it ever occur to you that women don’t approach you because they think you’re too good for them?”
“No, way!”
“Someday I’ll give you lessons on cruising women and we’ll try it out. I’ll prove it to you. We can’t do it at the picnic because you’re my date, but some other time.”
“Some other buddy date?”
“Yeah,” Angel said, stopping at the light and suddenly wondering if she was making a mistake. She didn’t want Kim to think they were just friends. She only wanted to go slow so Kim would have time to get over Ollie and not feel rushed into another relationship.
“I don’t have to go home with them do I?” Kim asked.
“No, it would just be a test. You have to leave with the teacher.”
“Because I’m the teacher’s pet?” Kim said, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Angel said.
***
Sally was sitting with Alicia, whose shoulders were slumped in dejection. All around them the balloons and banners were flying, the barbecue grills filled the air with the smell of roasting flesh and one keg had gone dry already.
“She really did bring a date,” Alicia said, as they watched Kim and Angel approaching.
Kim saw Alicia first and neatly took Angel’s hand. Angel was surprised but then understood why.
“I’m your date, right?”
“My beautiful date.”
“Oh, yeah, silly me,” Kim said, smartly.
Angel grabbed her waist and pulled her in close. “If you don’t behave I’ll make you write it on the blackboard a zillion times.”
Kim smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Where did she meet her?” Alicia asked Sally.
“She lives on her route,” Sally said, putting her arm around Alicia. “Come on, let’s go get a beer. We can talk to them later.”
Alicia allowed herself to be dragged off but she watched Angel out of the corner of her eye until Sally suggested they go watch them in the sack race.
“If you continue to crane your neck like that trying to stare at them you’re going to have to go to the chiropractor by the end of tonight.”
Alicia brightened a little as they sat on the sidelines.
Angel waved at them as she stood, legs in a burlap bag, waiting for the starting gun.
“Her girlfriend is pretty,” Alicia said, sizing Kim up. “She kind of looks like that bitchy lady Ling on Ally McBeal.”
“Hmm . . .” Sally replied, watching everyone taking the first tentative hops.
Angel, of course, won but did help to drag Kim in as second. They didn’t have a lot of competition; between the flaming, the fat, and the uncoordinated players they were certain to win. Kim was laughing so hard she tripped herself and brought Angel down with her. They lay in a hysterical heap.
“See, I told you that would be fun. It was the only reason I wanted to come,” Angel said, pulling off her sack.
Kim sat up and tried to compose herself. “Well, I admit that was fun but I’m still looking forward to butt darts myself.”
“I am not doing butt darts,” Angel said, pulling Kim up.
“I did the sack race. You’re doing butt darts, besides with an ass like that you’ll surely win,” Kim said, giving it a swift pat.
“Hey!” Angel said, pretending to be offended.
Kim didn’t get her wish because Angel got drafted into the vol
leyball game that was a challenge between rival stations. Kim declined because she was non-postal. She sat up in the bleachers. Alicia sat next to her. She smiled.
“How come you’re not playing?” Kim asked diplomatically even though her adrenal glands experienced an instant rush.
“I don’t like volleyball,” Alicia replied. “How about you?”
“I don’t work for the post office,” Kim replied.
“They wouldn’t have cared.”
“I know but I always seem to get run over by an overzealous, buxom woman. I’m not into pain.”
“You don’t play soccer then.”
“No,” Kim replied, “and for that very reason. I do, however, admire the sport.”
“Are you sure it’s not the players you like?” Alicia inquired, gathering momentum. Maybe it wasn’t so hard talking to cute women, you just had to have guts or a cocky attitude, Alicia thought.
“You caught me,” Kim said, laughing. “You all are a rather stunning bunch. It’s better than watching big hairs at the bar.”
“So you like athletic looking women?” Alicia asked, smirking.
“I think it depends on the person in their entirety. You could have great legs and a shitty personality and it would be hard to fall in love. At best it would be lust for a body part.”
“I’ve lusted for a body part, but you’re right, it’s the whole woman that matters.”
“What part was that?” Kim asked.
“It’ll sound stupid,” Alicia replied.
“Tell me anyway.”
“It was this woman’s forearms. You know that muscle between your wrist and your elbow,” Alicia said, flexing her own to demonstrate.
Saxon Bennett - Talk of the Town Page 11