Defective

by Maria Jackson

  Selena and Marren walked up behind Debra. “What’s going on?”

  “Whitney was just about to ask me something,” Rochelle said.

  Even if Whitney was willing to ask Rochelle, which she wasn’t even sure about, she wasn’t about to open up to four different people. “It’s nothing. I just had a thought.”

  “You can ask whatever you want,” Marren said. “I’m sure we’d all be happy to give our opinions.”

  Whitney frowned, looking from one to the next. Three of them were into girls, and maybe it would be good to get a variety of opinions. She didn’t have to tell them why she was asking the question.

  “Fine,” she said. “I was just… daydreaming. What would you just think if you were into someone, but she was an amputee?”

  Their expressions became confused. “What kind of limb would she be missing? A hand might be different than a foot,” Selena said.

  “Gross either way,” Debra said. “I prefer my women with all parts intact, thank you very much.”

  Exactly as Whitney had thought. She shrank back, knowing she shouldn’t have asked in the first place. There was no point in trying to convince herself that this was anything other than what it was. Her life was decided from the minute she went and stepped on a landmine.

  “I’m not so sure,” Rochelle said. “I don’t think it would really matter to me.”

  “Same here,” Marren said. “There’s some good-looking amputees out there. Have you seen some of the Paralympics athletes?”

  “The girl in question wouldn’t be a Paralympics athlete,” Whitney said softly. If she was, she might have half a shot.

  “But she’s hot, isn’t she?” Debra asked. “I mean, she would have to be hot for me to be interested in the first place.”

  “I guess you’d find her kind of hot,” Whitney said, thinking about the way Yolanda looked at her. If Yolanda wasn’t attracted to her, she wouldn’t have tried so hard to get her out of her clothes.

  “If I think she’s hot, then there isn’t an issue,” Marren said. “Selena could be missing both her arms and legs, and I wouldn’t care. It’s her that I love.”

  “Same,” Selena said, smiling at her girlfriend. “I don’t think it would affect anything. It might make things different if I had to help her with certain things, but it wouldn’t keep me away from her. No way.”

  Whitney frowned. A lot of people had told her that, but they were all just telling her what she wanted to hear. Her experience with Marsha had shown her that no one would want to date an amputee.

  But these girls didn’t even know they were talking to an amputee. If they said they were willing to date someone like her, it wasn’t because they were concerned for her feelings.

  She looked at Debra, the one hold-out. “So if the girl was good-looking enough, you might go for it?”

  Debra wrinkled her nose, confirming all of Whitney’s fears. But when she spoke, she wasn’t as contemptuous as Whitney had anticipated. “I might try it once.”

  “Once?”

  “I never go back for seconds anyway. I might be curious just to see how it is. But only if she was really, crazy, super, incredibly hot.”

  Whitney pursed her lips. She had no doubt that Debra had given an honest response. And even if she was the shallowest of the people she’d surveyed, she was a tiny bit open to the idea. Maybe Whitney’s missing limb wasn’t the life sentence she had always imagined. Maybe, just maybe, she could have a chance with Yolanda.

  Marsha had hurt her badly, but Yolanda wasn’t Marsha. Yolanda was like no one else Whitney had ever met, and Yolanda claimed she really liked her. Whitney had a shot.

  Her fellow Marine’s assurances from earlier came back to her. Whitney was so hopeful right now that she could almost let herself believe she’d done something good for her country. It was true that only blind chance that had put her and not Andrew in harm’s way.

  What would things be like if she could accept what everybody said? She’d already spent so long mired in her own self-loathing. The past couldn’t be changed, but she had been spared her life that day. The least she could do was live it.

  She stared up at the DJ booth. The woman sitting there was everything that she wanted. If Whitney never gave her a chance to make an informed decision, she could only blame herself for being alone.

  “Just a second,” Whitney said. She went back to the cash register and picked up her glass. The ice cubes had melted just a little, and she swirled it around to watch the colors mingle. Was she completely crazy? Probably… but the Green Fairy had a plan for her.

  Lifting the glass, she threw back the shot all at once. She swallowed and felt the fire catch low in her belly. Fuck, this stuff was strong. She hardly ever drank, and when she did, it hit her hard. Maybe that was why she was even entertaining this idea. She closed her eyes and shuddered, feeling the liquor spread from her gut all the way to her fingers and toes. Yes, she was going to do this.

  “Listen, I need to step away,” she said urgently as she returned to the group standing around the bar. “Could one of you stand behind the bar for me? Just tell anyone who wants a drink that I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll do it,” Debra said. “Sounds like fun.”

  Flames blazed inside Whitney as she lifted the divider. Debra came in, placing herself behind the bar.

  And Whitney moved toward the front of the room.

  Twenty-Seven

  From the DJ booth, Yolanda had a perfect view of every girl who came onstage. This had to be the ninth one at this point, and they just kept coming. The line-up for the stage stretched halfway to the back hallway.

  From where Yolanda was sitting, she could see every square inch of their dripping bodies. The next one was a local from here in Bridgehaven. As she climbed onto the stage, Yolanda talked up her looks the way Ron had instructed her to. “She has the face of a goddess, and the body to match. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Rhoda Myers.”

  As awkward as she had found the idea, doing this was becoming easier and easier as the night went on. Yolanda stared at the girl onstage, her mouth watering. After so much looking at them, picking up on their good points and vocally appreciating them, she was getting slightly turned on. These women looked good, and she had to admit she was attracted to them. Yolanda couldn’t deny that she was gay anymore.

  But she was only into their bodies. She didn’t know these women. She had never spent hours having the time of her life putting up stupid flyers with them. She’d never played with their dogs, and they hadn’t won over her daughter. These girls weren’t the ones she wanted. The only woman she could picture herself building a life with was behind the bar and wanted nothing to do with her.

  “Give it up one more time for Rhoda,” Yolanda said into the mic as she queued up the next song. Glancing at the list of contestants, she checked who was up next. When she looked at the line behind the stage, she blinked. Instead of someone she had never seen before, it was Whitney.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she watched Whitney shove past the waiting women. What was she doing? Was she trying to get through to the DJ booth? No, it looked like she was heading for the steps onto the stage.

  The other women in line gave her funny looks, but none of them questioned what she was doing. For whatever reason, they didn’t get in her way. Whitney climbed onto the stage as if she belonged there.

  From her spot on the stage, she stared at Yolanda expectantly. Yolanda wondered what exactly she was supposed to do. She remembered the joke they had shared—she was supposed to play All The Things She Said for Whitney, and Whitney was going to dance. Was she trying to enter the competition?

  An understanding passed between them, and Yolanda spoke over the music. “Party people, I have a special treat for you. A new entrant is here for us to see. She’s a former Marine.” Her voice caught. “Straight out of the service and onto our stage. She’s going to serve all of you tonight. Her name is Whitney Dixon, everyone.”

 
; She leaned back in her chair, still wondering what Whitney was doing. This was crazy. Whitney wouldn’t even take off her clothes in private, and now she was up on the stage letting her clothes go transparent for a club full of people.

  But when the men in front of her went to throw water, Whitney waved them down. She looked at Yolanda again before bringing her hands to her collar. Instead of moving, Whitney just stood there. There was a slight sway in her stance, as if she was drunk.

  The crowd was silent, seeming to sense the awkwardness as Whitney slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Yolanda should have been planning the next few songs, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the main stage. And as Whitney unbuttoned each button, she kept her eyes on Yolanda.

  When Whitney reached the last button on her shirt, she took it off and stood in just her bra. Her body looked just as good as Yolanda could have imagined. Every inch of her was toned, and she looked just as good as any other woman in this place. Yolanda’s body responded to the sight. Whitney was an absolute vision.

  But what was she doing? She stood there, just looking at Yolanda. As Yolanda looked back at her, Whitney made a circle with her hands. Was she saying to turn down the music?

  Yolanda couldn’t have said why, but she did just that. Whitney nodded to her, and then she yelled into the silence. “I want to show you something.” She looked straight at Yolanda, ignoring the rest of the room. “I want everyone to know. I can’t hide anymore.” She put her hands to her beltline, whipping off the belt without ceremony. “This is who I am.”

  She pushed her jeans down an inch at a time. Yolanda watched as if hypnotized. Something told her all of her questions were about to be answered. She wondered blankly what she was going to see. Had Whitney’s time in the service left her deformed in some way? Maybe there was scarring that she didn’t want Yolanda to see.

  The room was silent. No one made a sound as Whitney pushed her jeans down over purple panties, then her slim thighs, and finally past her knees. She slid them over one calf and took that leg out.

  When she took out the other, the room let out a collective gasp.

  Whitney’s left leg was fine until the knee, aside from a few reddish scrapes. After that, the skin color was slightly darker. Yolanda looked closer. It had an unnatural shine. Understanding began to take shape in Yolanda’s mind, and she realized she had forgotten to breathe.

  Yolanda had always imagined that Whitney had all of her limbs. Seeing she’d been wrong, she didn’t know what to feel. She’d never fantasized about someone with a missing leg.

  She forced herself to exhale, thinking of how difficult it must have been for Whitney to show the room her body. Now she understood why Whitney had been so hesitant to take off her pants when they were together. But Whitney was a veteran. She must have lost her leg in battle. That made her a hero.

  Yolanda’s throat tightened, and she looked at Whitney with tears blooming in her eyes. How could Whitney have been so scared when she had lost her leg for such a noble cause? And how could Yolanda think for a second about Whitney not being what she’d expected?

  Since she was in control of the music, she was the one person in the room who could bring this back to how it was supposed to be. She needed to say something, anything, to get the competition going again. But all she could do was sit there, wondering at Whitney’s sacrifice.

  Whitney looked at her, and she looked back, frozen.

  After another long moment, Whitney rushed off the stage.

  Twenty-Eight

  Whitney felt like she was choking. Somehow she made her legs move toward the edge of the stage. Her prosthetic clattered on the floor without a shoe to shield it, making a horrible sound in the silence of the room.

  What had she been thinking? She turned back, scooping up her clothes, the room still dead-silent. As she ran down the stairs, someone clapped once. Another clap joined it. She cringed, her face contorting as she heard more and more people applauding. The room filled with applause.

  As she hit the ground, people were on their feet. She held her clothes in front of her, her cheeks hot and her jaw tense. Had the shot of absinthe hit her that hard? Why had she ever thought revealing herself on a whim would be a good idea?

  She’d gone to so much effort to keep her amputation to herself. She had just been thinking about how she should keep her veteran status to herself, for Christ’s sake. Now all of her coworkers knew about her leg loss, as well as half the town.

  Whatever the girls had said earlier was hardly relevant. Yolanda was not going to be attracted to a one-legged woman, simple as that. She was living in a fantasy world if she thought it could be different.

  As she reached the bar and saw Debra’s shameful look, Whitney realized her other mistake. Yolanda had said she was a veteran. Every single person in this club knew it now. They were all going to assume that she was some kind of hero who had lost her leg doing something good for her country. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  “I’m sorry for what I said,” Debra said, looking as apologetic as she sounded. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I never thought about amputees before. I didn’t think I knew any.”

  “No offense taken,” Whitney said, getting behind the bar and pulling her clothes on as quickly as possible. “I just need to be alone right now, all right? Tell your friends that, too.”

  Although the others looked at her curiously, they left. Whitney wondered if she should have explained the situation to them. She had really fucked herself over with what she had just done. Either she’d have to accept their adulation for her or she’d be forced to reveal her secret shame.

  As she stirred at the ice around in the bucket, she wondered which of those she should do. She hated the idea of accepting any praise for what she hadn’t done. But she couldn’t tell anyone what had actually happened, either.

  She realized a customer was standing in front of her, and she struggled to smile at her. “How can I help you?”

  “I don’t need anything,” he said. “I just wanted to thank you—”

  “For my service,” she snapped. “Yeah, thank you.”

  He looked at her in dismay, but walked away. Whitney felt bad, but what else could she have done? She needed to figure out something, and fast.

  More customers were approaching, hardly seeming to notice as she tossed a few bottles into the air. They marched toward her, one after the other. Their eyes spoke of gratitude. No amount of alcohol was going to distract them now.

  She looked over to the right, and her breath caught in her throat. The customers weren’t the only ones approaching. Yolanda was there, her face tight. Whitney blinked several times in a row as Yolanda hesitated, then gave her a tiny nod to signify that she could continue to approach. As much as Whitney didn’t want to have this conversation, she knew that it was necessary.

  “Don’t you have some DJing to do?” Whitney asked when Yolanda arrived.

  “The song is on, and the next one is queued up.” Yolanda went quiet for a moment, looking searchingly into Whitney’s eyes. “I understand now.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Maybe not everything, but I know why you didn’t want to take your clothes off with me. I get it, Whitney. I don’t care about your leg. I want you with or without a leg. Your leg isn’t what I’m interested in.”

  It was everything that Whitney could have wanted to hear, but it wasn’t true. “Why would you not care?”

  “Because you gave up your leg for our country. You’re a hero.”

  Whitney’s heart clenched in her chest, and she lowered her head. “I’m not. That’s what I mean. You don’t understand anything at all.”

  “What don’t I understand?” Yolanda looked at her, and Whitney could only look away.

  She was going to have to tell her. Going to have to say the words she had left unsaid for so long. She had never thought she would tell this to anyone, much less a woman that she was crazy about… but she had given herself no other way out.


  “I didn’t lose my leg in service to our country,” Whitney mumbled, barely loud enough for even her to hear. “I stepped on a landmine.”

  “I figured it was something like that.”

  Whitney shook her head, needing Yolanda to know exactly how unlike a hero she was. “My first day in Iraq,” she spat, bitterness rushing through her. “It happened within the first twenty-four hours. I fucked up, and I left before I could do a damn thing for our country.”

  Yolanda’s eyes widened. What else had Whitney expected?

  Whitney grabbed the edge of the bar, squeezing until her fingers hurt. “I didn’t do shit for America,” she said. “I didn’t help anyone. Not just that, I did the opposite. I wasted the government’s time and money by getting trained and not even serving. You know how much it costs to keep someone in the hospital for a day?”

  Unable to face Yolanda’s stare, she looked at the bar. “I was there for weeks. Not to mention this thing.” She gestured at her leg. “These don’t come for free. I took mine away from someone who would’ve deserved it. Now the government pays me a goddamn full-time salary for the incredible accomplishment of being a colossal idiot.”

  “Whitney…”

  Whitney couldn’t listen to what she had to say. “All my life, I wanted to be a Marine. I was always told that I couldn’t because of my gender, and then because of my sexuality. When Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was repealed, I finally had the chance. But then it became reality—could I really do it, or had I just been telling myself that all along? I had to talk myself into it, you know. It wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly, even when I’d been dreaming of it all my life.”

  Whitney was hardly conscious of Yolanda standing across from her anymore. She was just talking to herself now, pouring out her heart. “I managed to talk myself into it. I told myself how much good I was going to do in the world. And I was so scared. All through training, I thought about chickening out and going home. I told myself, ‘Don’t be a coward.’ I made it through training. I got on a plane to Iraq. And then… the first day, the very first day…”