DEFECTIVE
by Maria Jackson
DEFECTIVE
Published by Maria Jackson
Copyright © 2017 Maria Jackson
All Rights Reserved
May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.
Cover photo: © Deposit Photo
This book has been adapted with permission from a book previously published by A.R. Steele.
One
Yolanda hesitated just outside the door. Her nose wrinkled and she stared at the ground. Every part of her body fought against going inside the inauspiciously-named Lady Cave. Her gut, her nerves, and her instincts all told her not to go.
Against her better judgment, she pushed the door open. Immediately she was assaulted with body heat and loud music. The darkness overtook her as she stepped in. As she blinked to adjust to the dim light, she could already tell the room was too small for the amount of people in it.
She glanced around through slitted eyes, looking warily in each direction. There were a few men in the place, but it was mostly filled with women. Women holding women, dancing with women, even kissing women. She gritted her teeth and moved forward, keenly aware that anyone could have mistaken her for being like the others.
If she had her way, she would be anywhere else—but she had promised her friend that she would be here tonight. She made her way through the room to the corner of the stage. A girl leered at her and reached out to finger a strand of her long black hair. Yolanda opened her mouth in outrage and slapped her hand away.
No one else tried to touch her, thankfully, but she still had to suffer through the sight of the women around her. It was impossible to avoid. They were everywhere in this place. People weren’t even individuals anymore, just a mass of writhing bodies.
Yolanda pushed open the door to the DJ booth and collapsed against the wall, shaking her head at her friend.
“Hey, hey,” Rochelle said. “You made it!”
“Yeah, sure,” Yolanda said, hoping her discomfort wouldn’t show too much. She would have gone anywhere for this girl after the amount of time they had known each other. Rochelle had been there for her ever since they’d bonded over listening to each other’s Walkmans in elementary school.
“What do you think?” Rochelle asked
“It’s not exactly my kind of place,” Yolanda said, trying to stay diplomatic. “The music is good, though. I like the beats you’re dropping.”
“Thank you! I mixed these cuts earlier today.”
“Definitely fresh,” Yolanda said. “I wouldn’t have thought to go from Beyoncé to the Stone Temple Pilots.”
“Well, they’re loving it,” Rochelle said, gesturing out at the crowd. Yolanda swallowed as she looked back out there. Her eyes lit on one couple that was practically humping each other right there on the dance floor. It was barely past eleven and they were already going at each other like that? Yolanda couldn’t believe anyone would be so uncivilized.
“I’m glad our schedules finally worked out,” Yolanda said.
“I know. The one night I have a gig is the one that you have off.”
“Please,” Yolanda said, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder. “You have a gig practically every night these days. You’ve told me so.”
“Here and there, here and there,” Rochelle said. “Not everyone can be so lucky as to work five nights a week like you.”
Yolanda laughed. Rochelle was just joking around, but Yolanda was happy they could both earn money doing what they loved. Rochelle had a day job as well, while Yolanda DJed full-time at Heat Wave, a nightclub down the street. She had never imagined things turning out like this when they started messing around with music software in their teens. They had taken up the hobby together, and they were still doing it almost ten years later.
“How’s things at work?” Rochelle asked, nodding to the music as she clicked on the computer. The beats from the last song blended seamlessly into the next one.
“Not bad,” Yolanda said, crossing her arms.
“You must have plenty of eye candy, all those girls in their club dresses.”
Yolanda shot her a glare. Rochelle laughed and raised her hands in surrender. “Just teasing.”
Lips tight, Yolanda shook her head. Rochelle might just be teasing, but she’d heard far too much of that teasing over her life. It seemed to be a permanent joke that Yolanda was a lesbian. She got accused of it in every environment she went to. High school, college, family, dating… For some reason, she gave off vibes of liking women, and she had no idea why.
Sometimes people were aggressive about it, like when a bunch of kids from her high school had jumped her and beaten her up for her supposed proclivities. Sometimes it was supportive, like when her family staged an intervention for her. Just now, it was mild teasing. Yolanda hated it regardless. The accusation simply wasn’t true. She would have had no issue with it if she was into women, but she wasn’t.
“It’s a fine job,” she said. “Pays the bills. I can’t complain.”
Yolanda had never clicked with her coworkers. At first, she’d gotten along best with the bartender. Whitney had a kind smile and an endless supply of dachshund pictures. The soft, polite way she spoke soothed something deep in Yolanda’s soul.
Yolanda used to go by the bar and help her set up almost every night. Shooting the shit about nothing in particular had never been so pleasant. Soon after Yolanda found out Whitney was gay, though, she stopped going.
“And your ex was fine with watching Jessie tonight?” Rochelle asked, leaning back in her chair.
Yolanda let her arms drop, relaxing at the thought of her preschooler. She was the light of her life, the one thing that always made her soften. “She didn’t mind at all. I mean, Jessie goes to sleep at nine o’clock.”
“She doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night?”
Yolanda had to laugh. “That’s more of something babies do. She’s four now.” She would have thought that would be common knowledge. Even if she and Rochelle were the same age, being a parent separated them in maturity.
When Jessie was born, Yolanda was twenty-two. Many of her friends were freaked out. They were nowhere near the point of having children—most weren’t even in relationships. Certain people had slowly stopped talking to Yolanda as she went through her pregnancy. She could have used some support near her delivery date, when Truman left her for another woman, but few people were there. At least Rochelle was.
Yolanda couldn’t blame her friends for not knowing how to handle a child in their midst. They’d never had the easy camaraderie other women their age shared, anyway. And the odd situation where Yolanda lived with Truman and the woman he had left her for didn’t help her relate to people.
“Oh look, it’s some friends of mine,” Rochelle announced. “I didn’t know they were going to come.”
Yolanda looked over at the door, then sank down below the divider. She hoped those girls weren’t going to come over here. She’d met them before—they were all a bunch of lesbians.
But it was too late. Rochelle was already smiling and waving, beckoning the girls to come their way.
Yolanda pasted a smile on her face and straightened up.
Selena was in front of the booth a minute later. “Hey, ladies,” she said. “Doing a joint DJ session?”
“No,” Yolanda said. “I came out to support my friend since I had the night off and she was here.”
Slightly bitter, Yolanda wondered how Rochelle managed to avoid scrutiny about her sexuality. Even with a mostly-gay friend group and a gig in a lesbian club, everyone knew she was straight. Of course, that probably had something to do with her healthy, long-term relationship with a man.
Two more of Rochelle’s friends crowded around the
booth. “Hey, Yolanda,” Marren said. She was Selena’s long-term girlfriend. “Didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Same to you,” Yolanda said.
“Enjoying the music?” Rochelle asked.
“My ears are having an orgasm,” Debra said jokingly.
Yolanda looked from one of them to the next, wishing she could read their minds. The fact that she was at a lesbian club was incriminating. She just hoped they wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusion. Some of them were definitely doing so even as they spoke. She tensed, wishing they hadn’t come here. She didn’t know what she would do if the rumors that had pursued her throughout her life started to swirl around again. She had worked so hard to avoid them.
“I heard your club has a wet T-shirt contest coming up,” Marren said to Yolanda. “That should be hot.”
Yolanda shrugged, not caring much either way. It wasn’t like she’d be looking.
“Anyway, I’m going to take my girl onto the dance floor,” Marren said.
She and Selena disappeared, reappearing a minute later in the middle of the mass of bodies. They moved together with practiced rhythm in a way that made it hard for Yolanda to take her eyes off them. They moved together like they fit together, and she struggled to not think about where they had been practicing.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Debra said. “See you two later.” She took off as well.
They’d hardly departed when Yolanda locked eyes with another familiar face across the room. Her heart leapt in her chest, which she wrote off to being upset. “Oh, no.” Was the entire world going to see her in a lesbian club?
“Who is it?” Rochelle asked.
“It’s the bartender and the bouncer from the nightclub.”
“Well, wave them over,” Rochelle said.
Against her better judgment, Yolanda did. She smiled weakly as Whitney approached. In return, the bartender gave Yolanda her usual kind smile. The way her full lips turned upward seemed completely sincere, despite the way Yolanda had abandoned their friendship.
Whitney was a good person—no, a great person. After they’d stopped talking, Yolanda had even heard she was a veteran. She hadn’t found the right moment to ask about what seemed like a personal subject.
With her short blonde hair and gentle blue eyes, Whitney was good-looking. Yolanda could acknowledge that much. She always wore a tight T-shirt and a black vest as she showed off her skills with juggling shakers, spinning bottles, and lighting shot glasses on fire.
At the moment, the thin fabric of her shirt did little to conceal the gentle curve of her chest. She wore jeans that fit just right, along with white sneakers that accented the length of her legs. Her expression was calm and pensive, as always. Yolanda tensed as she looked at her.
“Hey.” Even if Yolanda preferred to avoid Whitney lately, she was right in front of her now, so she would be civil. She licked her lips. “Good to see you.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Whitney said, her eyes lingering on Yolanda.
“Oh, I came to see my friend DJ—” Yolanda started to explain.
Whitney was still looking at her, those blue eyes gazing curiously into Yolanda’s. “Hey, so, would you like to dance?”
Two
Yolanda looked so darn sexy in her black T-shirt and jeans. It was similar to what Whitney was wearing, but it hung completely differently on Yolanda’s slender frame. Whitney liked her height, her willowiness, and how the long ponytail that almost reached her waist rippled like ocean waves when she moved.
Whitney had found Yolanda attractive ever since she started working at the club. Yolanda was her closest friend at Heat Wave for a while, even if they weren’t actually that close. At some point, Yolanda had stopped coming around to visit her behind the bar. Whitney had started hanging out with Maxwell, the bouncer, sometime after that. While they were closer than she and Yolanda had ever been, she still missed chatting with Yolanda.
It was a surprise to run into her here. Yolanda had definitely given Whitney a certain vibe, but you never knew. She assumed she would have heard something if that was the case.
Seeing Yolanda in this environment, Whitney decided to take a chance. It was an impulsive decision, bolstered by the multiple shots Maxwell had encouraged her to take before they found the group. She wasn’t much of a drinker, so when she did imbibe, it hit her hard.
“Hey, so, would you like to dance?”
A response didn’t come right away, and Whitney told herself to stay calm. But as the silence dragged on, Whitney wondered if asking was the right decision. She examined Yolanda’s face, which was definitely not a good idea. Looking at those enticing features only turned her on. Yolanda’s almond-shaped eyes always looked slightly narrowed, and her forehead was the tiniest bit wrinkled as if she wore a constant frown. These took nothing away from her appeal.
But at the moment Yolanda had her lips pressed together, and her dark eyes were a strange mix of sorrow and anger.
Whitney prepared herself for a negative reaction. But even having braced herself, she shuddered when Yolanda said, “No.”
The look on her face turned to disgust, and she actually glared at Whitney as she took a step back. Whitney’s heart clenched. She definitely shouldn’t have said that. She felt suddenly sober, and she was almost unaware of Maxwell’s massive paw clapping down on her shoulder.
“I’m straight,” Yolanda said coldly. “I have a daughter, for Christ’s sake.”
Whitney’s mouth hung open, and she nodded speechlessly. She knew about the daughter – Yolanda had shown her a well-wrinkled picture from her wallet once. She just hadn’t been completely sure.
She felt the need to say something, but couldn’t manage it as Yolanda continued to glower at her. She had asked women to dance before she had gone into the Marines. Some of them had even been straight. They had turned her down politely, not angrily. She had never been rejected quite this painfully.
It had to be four years since she’d asked a woman for a dance. There were the two years with her ex, Marsha, and then training and the service, such as it was. Since then, she hadn’t made a move on anyone. She should have kept it that way.
Yolanda’s friend laughed in a clear attempt to defuse the situation. “She does give off a vibe, doesn’t she?” she said, tapping on the computer keyboard. “Everyone thought she was gay in high school, too.”
Whitney bit her lip, feeling even worse. She recalled well the teasing that went along with people becoming aware that she liked women. It would be even worse for someone who wasn’t actually a lesbian.
At least now Rochelle was the target of Yolanda’s nasty glare. The DJ continued, seemingly immune to the hostility. “A lot of people think that, actually,” she chirped. “Even her parents have their suspicions. They actually held an intervention—”
“I’m only going to say this one more time,” Yolanda said through gritted teeth.
Whitney stopped her before she had to say anything. She felt terrible, and it was all her fault. “That’s okay,” Whitney said. “I believe you. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”
Yolanda still looked far from happy, but her expression settled a little.
It was definitely a mistake to come here. She just hadn’t been out in so long, other than working. She forced herself because she never had a weekend night off, but now she wished she had stayed home.
With the shots wearing off, being here was overwhelming. She had spent so much time avoiding the world after coming back from Iraq. She had stayed in her parents’ basement for months on end, only coming out when it was absolutely necessary. Doctor’s appointments. Therapy. She definitely hadn’t been a customer in a bar in years.
“I see some tables over there,” Whitney said quietly to Maxwell. “Could we go sit down and just chat?”
“Sure,” he said.
“See you later, then,” she said to Yolanda.
Yolanda pursed her lips and nodded, polite if not much else. “S
ee you.”
Whitney weaved through the crowds, overwhelmed by the amount of people here. It was hard to believe that it was like this every weekend. This was insane! The music was so loud, and everyone seemed to be drunk. Did she really enjoy coming here in the days before her service? She remembered doing so with her ex, but it couldn’t have been like this.
At last, after smiling weakly at a few women who gave her the eye, Whitney sat down at a table. Maxwell dropped down next to her. “I need a drink,” Whitney said, rubbing her head with her hand. “Or several.”
“I hear you,” Maxwell said. “We’ll go get some more in a minute. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That wasn’t a big deal with Yolanda, you know. The way she reacted was on her, not on you.”
Whitney nodded. The bouncer was always protective, and he did make Whitney feel better. She still didn’t think she should have asked Yolanda, though. “Thanks,” she said.
“For what it’s worth, that girl is definitely gay.”
“You think so?”
Maxwell nodded. “She might be so deep in the closet she can’t even see the light at the door, but she’s in it.”
“You think she’s in denial?” Whitney asked.
“Yeah. The ones who act like that always are.”
Whitney raised an eyebrow. It was a nice theory, although she wasn’t sure if she believed it. She would go with Yolanda being straight for the moment. That would probably lead to less heartache… not that she had any further hopes about her. After being rejected like that, she could forget about her fantasy of erasing that little frown from Yolanda’s forehead. She was definitely over her little thing for the DJ.
They chatted about their work at Heat Wave for a few minutes. Whitney didn’t care about the topic. She really just want to talk about anything other than Yolanda. Her mind was still focused on it, and she knew she would be reliving that moment for weeks to come. The look on Yolanda’s face had hurt her somewhere deep inside.
“There are definitely more people at the club these days,” Maxwell said. “I think the wet T-shirt night will help to get more people in, too.”
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