Then there was the dinner with her parents. They never stopped stressing her out. She was just glad she wasn’t living with them anymore. Her mental health was so much better now that she had more space to herself. She glanced at the screen, seeing nothing, too distracted by her own mind.
Angering Yolanda again was probably the worst part of the day. She hadn’t learned anything from last night. She should have let it go when Yolanda told her to let it go. How could she not have seen that continuing to talk about it would offend Yolanda again?
She shook her head at herself. If she’d been a drinker, she might have reached for a bottle right about now. Valentine came to her side and looked up at her with those puppy dog eyes. She had to smile as she reached down to scratch behind her ears.
After a minute, she seemed satisfied that Whitney was okay. She was still angry with herself, though, as well as restless. She stood up and stretched, wondering what to do. The apartment was too small to roam much, but she did have her juggling balls in her side table.
She stood up and opened the drawer. She had quite the collection of balls at this point, all different colors and shapes. She had juggled tennis rackets and flaming batons at different points. For tonight, she would stick with the same three tri-colored balls she had used as a little girl.
She pulled them out, measuring their weight in her hands. She started slow, tossing them from one hand to the other until all three were in the air. Out of habit, she counted the number of throws. She could do this indefinitely, but she still liked to challenge herself sometimes.
She just thanked the stars that she had discovered juggling. She hated to think what her life would have been like if she hadn’t picked up this hobby. She never would have become a bartender, never have worked at Heat Wave. Never would’ve met a DJ who mattered more to her than she probably should.
Why was she so concerned with Yolanda’s opinion, anyway? Just because she had a pretty face and hair that begged to be touched, it didn’t mean Whitney had to focus so much on her. She was never going to have a chance with her. Yolanda was clearly straight, or at least she was portraying herself as such. Either way, Whitney had to respect that.
She tossed the balls from one hand to the next, going faster and then slower. The repetitive movement soothed her. She focused on looking at the same point where the balls peaked on either side. She knew it was silly, but it helped her.
The bartending course had really helped her get her life on a new track. She exhaled and smiled. She might not have had a girlfriend who was as attractive and cool as Yolanda, but at least she wasn’t hiding at her parents’ place anymore. She caught one ball, then the other two, and put them down.
Valentine was watching her from the corner of the room with her big eyes, and Whitney gave her a weak smile. She pulled her food down from the counter in the kitchen and poured a few handfuls into her bowl.
It was time to change for bed now. She could go to sleep and have some peace until the morning.
She pulled off her shirt, letting it glide over her back and chest. She sighed as the cool air made contact with her body. Once she had taken off her bra, she pushed her pants to her knees and sat down on the bed.
This was always her least favorite part of the day. She could pretend everything was fine while she was out. Pretend that she was normal. When she took off her clothes, she couldn’t hide from the truth any longer.
And it was an ugly truth. When she looked at herself, she always felt nauseous. No amount of therapy could stop it from happening. This was the reason Marsha had left, the reason no one would ever love her again.
Whitney let out a breath, pausing before pulling the pants over her right knee. She was disfigured, to put it mildly. Defective, if she was going to be hard on herself. And when she was alone at night, there was nothing and no one to stop her from being hard on herself.
Closing her eyes, she pulled the pants over her left knee. Her hand brushed over the growing blister, and she grimaced. Either the suction cup attached to her stump was getting looser, or what was left of her leg was wasting away. She needed to go in for another fitting.
She detached the prosthetic and got into bed.
Nine
The long weekend felt like it went on and on. Regardless, Yolanda didn’t mind getting back to work on Wednesday evening. She had enjoyed spending time with Jessie and her family, but she liked being here as well.
Playing the music that made people happy made her feel good, along with having the power to change the entire mood of the room. She enjoyed expressing herself with the choices that she made or the way she mixed the songs into each other. She could slow down the songs or speed them up, layer them together, do anything she wanted with the music. Ron, her boss, had always given her a lot of leeway with her work.
She had to speak on the sound system, too. She had to get the crowd excited for every stage of the night. It was nerve-racking, but hearing her voice booming throughout the club was a thrill.
As she walked through the door, she bumped into Maxwell, the bouncer. “What’s up?” she asked. She would try to be friendly, even if he was a good friend of Whitney’s.
“Not much,” he said. “How was the rest of your weekend?”
“Good. I took my daughter to an amusement park.” It had been a family trip. Yolanda had taken Jessie on the kids’ rides, and then Truman and Ella paid for her arcade games. Jessie had been unreasonably excited about winning yet another stuffed bear.
“That sounds nice,” Maxwell said. “She’s a great kid.”
They stopped in front of the DJ booth and Yolanda leaned her elbow on the divider. “Ready for the rest of the week?” she asked. “I feel like this is going to be a long one, now that we had such a long weekend.”
“Well, we have the wet T-shirt contest to look forward to this Friday,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Right, I almost forgot,” Yolanda said. She was probably the only one less excited for that than Maxwell was. When the time came, she would do her job. That was all anyone could ask of her.
She went into the DJ booth and started to set up. As soon as the laptop was on, she opened her playlist for the night. She had an idea of what she would play, but she always changed things up based on what the crowd wanted, as well as any special requests from the waitresses.
She had enough time to text Rochelle back, if she wanted to. An inexplicable sadness came over her as she thought about it, and she sighed. She’d have to do it eventually… but she wasn’t quite ready yet. For the hundredth time, she put it off.
She kept an eye on the bar, watching for the bartender that she seemed to keep thinking about. When Whitney arrived a few minutes later, Yolanda headed over to see her. “Hey, Whitney. How are you?”
“Good,” Whitney said, looking at her in surprise. “What’s up?”
Just making sure you don’t hate me. “Nothing,” Yolanda said instead. “I figured you might need some help setting up. There must be more to do than usual after being away for the long weekend.”
“All right, you can help with checking the mixers. Pull all of them out and taste them.”
Yolanda opened the fridge that was just below the cash. She pulled out a few bottles, bending down to reach them. Whitney shuffled around behind the bar, doing this and that. There was definitely a lot to do, even if Yolanda had just been using that as an excuse to talk to her. This felt like old times, before the knowledge of Whitney’s sexuality had made everything so awkward.
A second before Yolanda tasted the first mixer, Whitney stumbled under the weight of a huge bag of ice. “Let me help you with that instead,” Yolanda said, rushing to grab it from her.
It was funny. Whitney was bigger than Yolanda, so she should have been stronger. But as Yolanda took the box from her hands, she would have sworn that Whitney was in pain.
Whitney pointed to a metal bin by the sink. “How was the rest of your weekend?” Yolanda asked as she began to pour the ice inside.
“Nice. I mostly hung out with Jessie.”
“She’s quite a kid,” Whitney said, grabbing the orange juice. “Do you ever think about what she’ll be like when she gets older?”
“I try not to,” Yolanda said. “She’s perfect right now. I hope she never grows up.”
“Such a silly thing for a mom to say,” Whitney laughed. “She’s going to be twenty before you know it. She’ll be having boyfriends. Maybe girlfriends.”
Yolanda started to say something, but her words caught in her throat. She had never considered the possibility that Jessie could be gay. She hated the thought. “She wouldn’t,” she snapped.
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, you know,” Whitney said softly.
“Of course not.”
Yolanda just hoped Jessie wouldn’t go through the same suspicion and bullying she’d been through. She wouldn’t wish that on anybody.
“It’s fine for other people to be gay,” Yolanda said. “Just… not for me.”
Whitney gave her a cold look. “And not for your family either, I see. You know, this thing of yours is getting old. Maybe I should take over from here.” She went to grab the next bag of ice, another wince coming over her face.
Taking the bag from Whitney’s hands, Yolanda looked down. “I’m sorry. I phrased that badly. It’s just… do you know how old I was the first time I got called a dyke?”
Whitney gave her a quizzical look.
“Take a guess.”
“I don’t know. Twelve?”
“Eight,” Yolanda said, pouring the ice into the bin. “I didn’t know what the word meant. All I knew was the tone of voice she used.”
She paused, remembering the sting of the long-ago insult. When she’d gone to her parents and asked what “dyke” meant, they looked at each other with worried eyes. After giving her a brief explanation of alternative sexualities, they told her it was okay to love whoever she wanted to love. The tension in their voices contradicted what they said.
The experience only left her with the desire to never be called that again.
“Anyway, it’s cool,” Yolanda said, setting the empty bag on the counter. “I don’t care which way anyone swings. I just don’t want Jessie to go through any of that. She’s so damn little. I told you, I don’t even like to think about her turning five.”
Whitney’s expression softened. “You might have a hard time, then.”
Yolanda let the last few ice cubes clatter into the bin. “To answer your question, though, I think she’s going to be a wonderful adult. She has so much energy, so much life. I hope she’ll never lose that.”
“Yes, I can see her going into a career where she can interact with others. Or maybe with animals. She really loved those two dogs.”
“She’s still talking about them,” Yolanda said. “Especially Valentine.”
“Maybe they’ll see each other again someday,” Whitney commented.
“Jessie would be overjoyed.”
Yolanda looked around the bar, which seemed to be ready. She hated to leave like this, still unsure of where she stood with Whitney. Somehow she cared a lot about what the other woman thought about her. She definitely hadn’t meant to say what she had said a minute ago. But it was time for the club to open, and both of them needed to get to work.
“I should go,” she said regretfully. “See you in a bit.”
She headed over to the DJ booth and woke up the laptop again. As the first song started, people began coming in the doors. She mentally went over what she was going to play throughout the night, still looking over at Whitney from time to time.
She sat down behind the divider and drummed her fingers on the table. She still hadn’t replied to the text Rochelle had sent her the other night. She put on a music mix to get the energy flowing for the few minutes before the official opening. She looked at the message again. Um… Do you really want to know?
It was time. She was ready.
Yes, she texted. I want to know.
Ten
From behind the bar, Whitney could only see so much of the room. There were usually at least two or three customers waiting to get drinks, and the place only got busier through the night. Whitney tried to be aware of what was going on at all times, but she was only one person.
At the moment, the club had been open for a few hours and customers were crowding around the bar. Whitney served one after another, juggling a few bottles in between to entertain the ones who were waiting.
The customers ate it up, as usual. How could they not? Whitney knew she was good at what she did. Although she wouldn’t have admitted it, she also knew the effect her kind smile, toned form, and stylish outfit had on both men and women.
When she finished with a few customers, she glanced over and jumped. Yolanda was there, fingering her long black hair as she waited.
“Hey,” Whitney said, the customers forgotten. “Did you need something?”
“Just wanted to tell you something about the wet T-shirt contest,” Yolanda said. “The manager just came by and told me we’re going to have to put up posters all over town.”
“Oh, okay. That’s cool.”
Yolanda nodded, but she didn’t leave. Whitney glanced over at her booth. The music was still pumping, but the song was coming to an end. Whitney supposed Yolanda might have already queued up the next one.
Still, she wondered why Yolanda had come over to tell her about the posters. Whitney could have heard about it later, and then Yolanda wouldn’t have had to leave her post.
Whitney served another customer her drink, setting the beer bottle on the counter with a flourish. The customer grinned up at her and handed her a ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
The next one wanted an appletini. Whitney poured the ingredients into the cocktail shaker and tossed it into the air, letting the motion shake the liquids together. People oohed and aahed as they watched.
Once Whitney had poured it out, she turned back to Yolanda. The next song had come on, and Yolanda was still here.
“About the posters,” Yolanda said. “We can go alone or in teams.”
“Okay.”
“I was wondering if the two of us could take your car.”
Flustered, Whitney stared at her. She wondered why Yolanda would want to do that. But with the amount of customers waiting, she needed to respond and get back to what she was supposed to be doing.
“Of course,” she stuttered. “When—when did you want to go?”
“Tomorrow before work?”
“That works for me.”
She stared after Yolanda as she left, limply holding the cocktail shaker. She was setting herself up for heartbreak by spending time with a straight girl she was attracted to. Not just attracted, either. She had feelings for her.
Yolanda may have been a little unfriendly in general, but the soft side that came out when she talked about her daughter was swoon-worthy. And then there were her darkly feminine looks—the willowy frame, the long black ponytail. Whitney ached to run her fingers through that hair the way Yolanda had just been doing.
“Hello? Hi!” a customer yelled, trying to get her attention. She turned to him with a forced smile. She’d completely forgotten where she was for a moment.
She threw a couple of bottles into the air to compensate for her lack of attention. “What can I get for you?”
“A Grey Goose and vodka,” the man said.
“Grey Goose and what?”
The customer looked at her as if she was an idiot. “Vodka. Do I need to repeat myself again?”
Whitney wondered how he would feel once he realized Grey Goose was a type of vodka. “Coming right up for you, sir.”
“And I want that shaken, not stirred,” he added, leaning on the bar to peer at what Whitney was doing.
As she served him and the next customers, she was still worried about whether she was making a mistake by spending time with Yolanda.
Well, this would be far from the hardest thing she had done in her life. If she had gotten through Iraq, she could get through this.
She paused in what she was doing and took a second to laugh bitterly at herself.
That was hardly saying much.
Eleven
Yolanda sat back in her chair, one hand on her headphones, the other on the laptop keyboard. As she tapped to select the next song from the playlist, she called out into the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have some bad news for you. There’s a ghost in here tonight. Now, everybody scream!”
It was one of her cheesiest lines, but it always worked. She laughed as she pressed play on the next song. Out in the crowd, people were cheering and dancing. It definitely seemed like everybody was having a good time.
As Yolanda looked through the playlist for the next song to play, she glanced over at the bar again. Whitney was serving and taking tips, wearing her usual vest over a tight T-shirt. The sight of Whitney’s pretty face made Yolanda’s breath catch.
She was only looking over there because they were going to be spending time together. Yolanda was kind of looking forward to it. It was hard to make friends while working nights, after all. Yolanda hadn’t made a new friend in a long time.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she ripped it out with unprecedented speed. She’d been waiting for a text back from Rochelle ever since she sent it. After waiting for days, she wanted the answer now… even if she wasn’t sure she could handle it.
With fumbling fingers, she opened the message. Hey! I thought you forgot about asking me that, I didn’t hear from you for so long.
Yolanda: Would you just tell me?
Rochelle: I’ll do my best.
Before she messaged back, the song ended and Yolanda had to pump up the crowd again. “If you’re having a good time, put your hands in the air!” The phone vibrated a second time as she was speaking. Her voice faltered, and she wrapped it up as quickly as possible. “I want to see everybody’s hands in the air.”
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