The Comfortable Shoe Diaries

by Renée J. Lukas

  “You mean gay marriage?” She had her hands on her hips, in full confrontation mode. If this had been an episode of Wild Kingdom, I’d have been the threatened elk right now.

  “No, you have a right to your opinion,” I said. “But I can’t stay friends with someone who thinks she’s better than me because I’m some kind of pervert who loves the wrong gender.”

  “I’m sorry if it hurts you, but I’m being honest when—”

  “You know what, Debra? Go fuck yourself.”

  All the way back to the apartment I was blinded by tears—that and the regret I had for not choosing something more scathing, yet poetic, to say in the end. I had to resort to expletives? Why did all the perfect words always come to mind when I was miles away from the scene? I never wanted to see or hear from her again. I had enough straight friends. I didn’t need her in my life anyway. But how could she be harboring these feelings toward me for six years, pretending to stand by me when all this time… I couldn’t believe it. She was never really my friend at all. People always shocked me. With my age certainly hadn’t come wisdom, I thought, pulling into a drugstore to get the cheapest brand of eye shadow possible.

  And when I got to the counter, all I could think about was how ironic it was. Why was my only job possibility an opening with a homophobic company in one of the most liberal cities on Earth? What were the odds?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “A Tale of Two Lesbians”

  Ellie was the bright spot in my day. No matter how bad things got, I could count on her emails to give me comfort. It was now fall, the perfect time for a getaway to Vermont. We’d planned to stay at a bed-and-breakfast for the weekend. Of course I was nervous. I’d never stayed at a bed-and-breakfast before.

  “Did you make sure it was for lesbians?” Maddie asked over glasses of wine at Penny’s place.

  “No, I think it’s just a regular—”

  Maddie and Penny exchanged grim faces.

  “What?” I always felt like the last one to know. “Is this some other rule in the lesbian handbook I don’t know?”

  “It’s just not good,” Penny sighed.

  “Shit, Syd.” Maddie threw her face in her hands. “A straight bed-and-breakfast? That’s where you’re going with your new girlfriend? You’ll be stuck having breakfast with a straight couple from Minnesota yammering about their kids and having to act like you’re just best friends or spinster sisters.”

  “It was her idea!” I exclaimed. “She thought it would be a romantic spot out in the country.”

  “Vermont is romantic this time of year,” Penny mused. “You’ll have lots of color up there.”

  Maddie smacked Penny. “Does this chick know the difference between straight and gay bed-and-breakfasts? Wait, you say she hasn’t been out long?”

  I nodded.

  “That explains it,” Maddie continued. “Just tell her you need to pick a different spot.”

  “I can’t. She made reservations.” I started packing and tried to ignore their admonitions.

  * * *

  I drove up to Massachusetts; I was going to meet Ellie at her house. Then we’d take her car up to Vermont. I worried over the winding roads. I took my anxiety pill. I tried the breathing exercises my therapist recommended. They never worked in any situation, but I kept trying them, hoping to have a different outcome.

  Massachusetts was dotted with reds and golds, as autumn had just begun. Old Victorian houses lined the roads, as well as handmade signs for apple orchards with arrows pointing to dirt roads. I kept checking her directions. Every back road seemed to lead to nowhere, until I saw a gas station or old inn that she told me would be there. My car sputtered as I crawled up a small hill. Behind a clump of trees a sprawling lake glittered with the reflections of color. It was the perfect place. A writer’s retreat, I fantasized. As I made it all the way up the hill, I found Ellie’s little ranch house in a small enclave on a dead-end street. It was a little tucked away place that made me want to stay a while.

  But Ellie came out to the driveway with a suitcase in each hand, clearly intent on leaving immediately. She greeted me with a warm smile. “The place is a mess,” she said apologetically.

  “That’s okay.”

  “My brother’s fixing the oil tank. It’s not safe, uh, to breathe the fumes.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t see another car in the driveway. “You sure he’ll be all right? Should we leave him?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She unlocked her car. She couldn’t wait to put our suitcases in, it seemed. As I handed her mine, she winked at me. “You made it.”

  “Great directions.” I waved the paper with her directions written on it. Amidst the smiles, I had an unsettled feeling. Why didn’t she want me to come inside? Was she a hoarder? Did she have so many knickknacks we’d hardly be able to open the front door?

  She backed the car out.

  What if she collected primitives? Like cloth roosters?

  We started down the winding road to Vermont. I told myself to stop being negative and just enjoy the damn scenery.

  Ellie programmed her GPS, hit it a few times, then tried to fasten it to the inside of the windshield. It kept falling down, and I tried not to laugh because she was getting increasingly irritated.

  “You want me to hold the wheel?” I asked.

  “No, it’s fine. It always does this.” Another smack on the GPS.

  A road trip was a good way to really learn about someone. I saw her impatient side—yea, a sort-of flaw. It made me feel better.

  I took in the Vermont landscape, a patchwork of cows and hills and red barns that had probably been around since the first settlers. I glanced at Ellie and smiled. Her flannel shirt looked so soft. We brushed hands, and I got those warm flutters inside.

  This was a lightning bug moment.

  Although I was the kind of person who waited for—and expected—the bad news in any situation, I knew I’d never forget this day. The light in her hair, the general stores with crudely drawn cow pictures on wood signs and the weightless feeling I had—this was what it meant to be alive.

  We arrived at the bed-and-breakfast, The Rooster Inn, which was an intimidating, stately Victorian mansion.

  “This isn’t exactly my style,” Ellie told me apologetically.

  “It looks pretty,” I said, reassuring her.

  She squeezed my hand. Her hand felt like the safest place in the world. With her slender fingers woven through mine, there was a strength between us, like we could conquer anything together.

  We checked in at a dark, cherrywood desk, complete with an old woman who was wearing a dress that must have been made from the same fabric as the busy, flowery drapes in the lobby.

  “One room?” she repeated.

  I thought Vermont was liberal. Wait. Vermont was, but Maddie was right—a straight bed-and-breakfast might not be.

  “Yes,” I answered firmly. I sensed that Ellie was uncomfortable.

  “They all have one bed per room,” the old lady informed us.

  “That’s fine,” I said sharply.

  Ellie looked around at the line of husband and wife couples forming behind us in the lobby.

  “But you’re two women!” the old lady protested.

  A rush of heat flashed up my spine as I got ready to climb over the front desk.

  “Hey, this is Vermont!” A man behind us yelled at the desk clerk.

  Ellie lowered her head; she wanted to disappear. I could tell.

  “Yeah, gay marriage is legal here,” another woman added. “So deal with it!”

  I turned and gave a quiet “thank you” to the crowd of supporters with New York accents, while the old lady reluctantly checked us in, punching the keys of her computer harder than was necessary, I was sure.

  We entered the ornate, overly Victorian room that looked so formal I didn’t want to touch anything. Ellie collapsed on the bed.

  “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know…”

  “That you had
to make sure it was gay-friendly?”

  She breathed a heavy sigh.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I know you haven’t been out long.” I tried to sound like the wise lesbian even though I had had no clue, either. “How long have you been out?” I asked.

  “Not long.”

  I wasn’t learning much here. And I was hoping to get to know her a lot better.

  “When did you know you were?” I continued.

  “All my life,” she answered. “You want to grab some dinner?”

  “Where?” I took a brochure off the nightstand. “The Dead Moose Inn. That’s, uh, forty miles away.”

  Silence.

  “I think they want you to eat here,” I said.

  “No.” Ellie peeked out the window. There was nothing for miles but bales of hay, grass and an occasional barn.

  “I doubt she has the energy to come up here and kill us in our sleep.” It was a bad joke, from the look on Ellie’s face.

  She seemed so upset. “I’m not used to this.”

  “Me neither,” I replied. “I never had anyone act like that in a regular hotel.”

  “This was a bad idea.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” I took her hands and pulled her close.

  But neither of us wanted to go to the dining room that night, being in a fishbowl with a spotlight on us, subjected to staring straight people, even the nice ones. I especially didn’t want that for Ellie. Since she hadn’t been out long, I wanted her to see how good it could be. But another thought nagged at me; it was the annoying inner activist waving signs on my shoulder.

  “If we don’t go to dinner,” I said, “the haters win, and we starve. Or drive to the Dead Moose. God, I hope that’s not on the menu.”

  She laughed so easily in the midst of her fear. I loved that most about her, an infectious laugh that spilled out even in times of stress.

  Over a candlelit dinner in the middle of the dining room with the stone fireplace, we ignored the crowd, which seemed mostly supportive, except for a handful of older couples who were trying hard to figure out if we were sisters.

  “Have you ever been to Provincetown?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a place where people like us can go and hold hands in public. My friends always talk about it.”

  Ariel had called it the Key West of the North. Years ago, I’d been to Key West with my family. We stayed on Duval Street where I remembered seeing mostly gay men walking hand in hand, and nobody seemed to care. That left the biggest impression on me. Well, that and the hot stickiness of sauna-like air that hit you every time you went outside. Our clothes stuck to our skin as we watched the orange sunset touch the horizon, at the southernmost tip of the US, in Mallory Square, to the applause of other tourists on the pier.

  My ADD was taking over. I’d forgotten I was in Vermont and instead was remembering trained cats jumping through hoops of fire in Mallory Square. How could anybody train a cat? I couldn’t even get Cookie up from her nap.

  “I was thinking of visiting there sometime,” I continued.

  “Then we should.”

  I gazed into her full, blue eyes, with candlelight swirling in them. This made her self-conscious; she turned her head and looked everywhere but my eyes.

  I smiled to myself.

  “So tell me,” I said, “when did you know?”

  “First grade,” she answered without a second thought.

  “No, I mean when did you decide to come out? What was the catalyst?”

  She hesitated. “It wasn’t long ago. I’d taken a night class in painting, and I got a crush on my teacher, who happened to be a woman.”

  “Ooh, that’s exciting.” I was like a little kid, wanting to hear all the juicy details.

  The waiter, who himself seemed gay, was very kind to us as he presented our plates of linguini garnished with some herbs grown in the owners’ garden.

  “Thank you,” Ellie said, not looking at him.

  “It’s okay.” I took her hand, and she jumped a little. She was obviously uncomfortable, so I took my hand away, tortured, trying to think of ways to put her at ease. Luckily, there was wine.

  We toasted to new beginnings. After another glass of wine, she stopped looking around the dining room.

  “You think it’s exciting I fell in love with my teacher?” she whispered.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s hot.”

  She tucked her hand beneath her chin. “It’s not so exciting when she turned out to be straight.”

  “Those straight women, always messing with your head.” I winked at her, and in the firelight, there was a glow all around her. Maybe it was just the way she looked to me that night. Her smile, her features, everything about her had a glow. There was no one else in the dining room, and all I could feel was my heart pounding as I wondered where this night would lead. The flames cast intermittent light across her face, making her eyes dance in a way that seemed to suggest she wasn’t quite so innocent after all.

  We returned to the Victorian bedroom. I pulled back the gushy, down comforter, grateful it was there to combat the draft coming from the cold windows. Places that had character always seemed to come with cold, drafty air.

  I took off my earrings, as I sat on the bed, suddenly aware of Ellie’s fearful expression. I reached out my hand to her.

  “You have slept with a woman before, right?” I asked. It never crossed my mind that I might be the one to initiate her into the lesbian club. That would be way too much pressure.

  “Yeah,” she answered, hesitating. “But it didn’t go so well. I guess I didn’t do it right.”

  I tried to imagine that. There was no right or wrong if you’re with someone you want to be with. It’s not like the Olympics, where you can get a perfect ten on your dive and earn a gold medal in lovemaking. Maybe the woman she was with was too mechanical.

  “You can’t do it wrong,” I said softly, starting to kiss her, trying to relax her. I was pretending my hands weren’t shaking or my heart wasn’t thundering out of my chest.

  I’d heard or read somewhere that you’re never more dishonest than when you’re in bed with someone. Ironically, it’s probably true. You want everything to go so well. You want her to remember you the next morning with a smile she can’t erase for days afterward. But it’s never like the movies. It’s sometimes clumsy and awkward, with you kneeling on her hair or her accidentally bending your arm in a direction it doesn’t naturally go.

  But once I figured out how to dim the Victorian lamp, there was a mood, a feeling, that reminded me of a movie. And all of my senses were overcome. I inhaled her soft, velvet skin, so warm, wrapped around me. When I looked up at her, brushing her long hair back from her face, I was struck by her beauty, with bare shoulders peeking over the sheet, like a painting or artistic photograph. I wanted to remember the way she looked at me, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of desire, a look I couldn’t get enough of. I wanted to make her look at me like that always.

  With the sheet tangled around our waists, she held me like she’d never let me go, kissing me all over. Her touch was gentle yet urgent, as if she couldn’t wait to explore all she’d imagined, just like me. This woman of my daydreams was sharing a bed with me. The thought crossed my mind, reminding me to savor every second.

  Reality is a funny thing. It’s always different than what you imagine. But this was the first time my reality was better than my dreams. That had never happened before.

  She smiled at me as I traced her lips, my fingertips inching down over her chin. “You’re so beautiful,” I sighed.

  She closed her eyes a long time.

  “What?” I asked, raising up on my elbow.

  “You have no idea how long it’s been since someone said that.”

  “You’re kidding.” I saw the hurt in her eyes. I couldn’t believe a woman like her wouldn’t have heard those words every day of her life. “Obviously, you’ve been with the wrong people.”

  “I gue
ss so,” she said softly and looked away so I wouldn’t see.

  I turned her face to look at me. “I meant it,” I said. For some reason, I had a feeling she needed to know it was the truth. This was a woman who had been betrayed before or underappreciated. I had to show her I was different. Each caress was a silent promise that I would never hurt her, at least not intentionally.

  My lips melted into her soft, silky skin. I was discovering every curve for the first time, with endless wonder. I traced the lines around her mouth, as she smiled in the dim light. Her body like poetry, her skin steamy hot to the touch—she was perfection. I only hoped I was deserving of this newfound treasure.

  Moonlight streamed in and outlined her exquisite breasts, as she arched her back, moaning with pleasure. I couldn’t get close enough, and I dove beneath the covers, discovering her with my lips, my tongue. She thrashed against the pillow, her body shaking into a frenzy, then quiet. Peace.

  We breathed deeply, holding each other with the soft cotton sheet still wrapped around us.

  I woke up after a few minutes and felt her arms around me. She whispered in my ear, “I want to go take a shower.”

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes and breathed a luxurious breath. It had been so long since my body felt like a rippling liquid of total relaxation, something so foreign to me.

  As the shower ran in the bathroom, there was a strange buzzing noise. I noticed it was her phone. I glanced at it, and on the screen it read: Shirley. It was a text. The curiosity ate away at me. The shower water poured forever. I couldn’t stand it. I picked up the phone and saw an unfathomable text message: “Call your husband.”

  My heart sank like a heavy boulder. I sat upright in bed, hurriedly put on my clothes, feeling used and humiliated.

  Ellie came out of the bathroom in a fluffy, terrycloth robe, her hair a shade darker from the water. She looked so good it hurt even worse.

  “You got a text,” I managed. “Someone named Shirley.”

  “She’s the school principal,” Ellie explained, picking up the phone. Then she saw what I’d just read.

  “You forgot to mention him in your profile?” My eyes filled with tears.