Always Her (Lesbian Romance)

by Alexandra Delancey

  Always Her

  Lesbian Romance Novella

  Copyright © 2015 Alexandra Delancey

  All rights reserved.

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Connect

  Other books

  About

  Chapter One

  Jack

  I get to see a lot of faces in my job, and a lot of the same faces over and again. But the girl who tipped me a single dollar, glancing down and walking away quickly with two Martinis and two Hanky Pankys was familiar from somewhere other than the bar.

  Hers was the last happy hour order. I reached up and rang the little antique bell hanging from the ceiling. It was a beautiful sound, signaling the beginning of the slump that lasted an hour or so each night, while the clientele was busy drinking the cocktails they’d panic-purchased ahead of the 8.30pm cut-off. A couple of women pressed against the bar; at least one of had already had enough.

  “Come on, we’ve been waiting since 8.15. Can’t you make an exception for us, just this once?” one of them said, doing a middling impression of a seductive woman. Her lipstick was smudged at the edges, a trace of it on her teeth. I rested my elbows on the black marble bar top.

  “I’m sorry, ladies. You know what it’s like. I say yes to you, and then the guy behind you wants the deal too. We’ve got to stick with the cut-off time,” I said, distracted, trying to place the girl. She was a petite blonde, uniformly pretty. I’d probably seen her in the neighborhood some time, but the thread of familiarity tugged at me from a point further in the distance. “Now, what can I get you?” Smudged Lipstick’s smile turned to a sneer.

  “Nothing. We’re good.” The two of them turned on their heel and walked away from the bar, an almost identical wobble in their gait. I shook my head. Tightwads. It was no loss to me. I’d probably made 40 cocktails in the last hour. If I didn’t have to make another one for the next hour, I’d be happy.

  I pulled a rack of glasses out of the washer and put them out to drain. If I had my way, we wouldn’t do happy hour at all. DeeBee’s was the most sophisticated cocktail bar in town, and knocking out half-priced drinks for the masses didn’t suit it. But it was the one thing Val the owner was adamant about. It’s such a good earner, he said. And I guess that was how he was able to pay me good money. It was great money, truth be told. Val’s generous wage, which had all my bartender friends turning chartreuse with envy, together with a generous tipping culture, paid my living expenses, and a not-insignificant chunk of my college fees. I really enjoyed the job. There was an art to it. Sure, the flairing was fun. On the advice of a good friend, I’d learned how to do it before I started college to give me access to higher paying jobs, but my real pleasure was in designing the cocktails. Val trusted me. I was head bartender, and I had full control over the menu. I loved trying out unusual flavor combinations. I researched old recipes and resurrected them. I purchased hard-to-find spirits from independent suppliers. I designed themed menus. The English one was the best, because, being a nation of alcoholics, they’d started drinking cocktails years before anyone else. The beach theme was my favorite, because it had been such a challenge. Have you ever tried to make a Piña Colada elegant? I put heart and soul into making those drinks, which is why happy hour killed me. People just went crazy and didn’t care how you made them. They’d order three two-for-ones at the same time, and their Mojito would melt while they had a Margarita and a Martini lined up ahead of it. It was a tragedy to see all those carefully-crafted drinks going the way of the icebergs.

  I polished a rack of glasses with a freshly-laundered towel, sliced some lemons, replenished the ice, cleaned the bar top and washed some more glasses, cursing the barback for calling in sick at the last minute.

  A little later, the blonde came back to the bar. She stepped on the floor rail and leaned over it, indicating that she wanted me to come close. As I obliged, I picked up the scent of freshly-shampooed hair and the merest hint of perfume – something powdery, with roses and musk.

  “I’ll have a glass of water, please,” she said quietly, the hand that was resting on the bar tensed into a fist. “But could you do me a favor and make it look alcoholic, in a short glass, with ice and lime?” She was either teetotal or broke. If it was the latter, she had my sympathy. Still trying to place her, I said,

  “How about I do a deal with you. I’ll give you a free drink, but you’ve got to be my guinea pig for a new cocktail I’m making?” She blushed a little, pressed her lips together, gave me a half-nod. “Do you like savory?” Her lips parted, revealing the most perfect row of natural teeth I’d ever seen. Her second incisor on the left winged out a bit, which is how I could tell they were natural. An orthodontist would have reined that one right in. I’ve got a slight fetish for teeth that don’t look like they came out of a dentist’s catalogue.

  “Yes, much better than sweet,” she said. Her voice surprised me. It was low pitched; the voice of a woman, not the girlie I’d taken her for.

  “Great,” I said, and turned to the quirky shelf, where the strange infusions lived. I picked out ginseng spirit, quinine cordial and violet essence. I glanced in the bar mirror at the girl’s reflection as I made the drink. She was watching me with unwavering attention. It was as I was adding the final touch to the glass – a sprig of thyme – that it hit me. I turned around and placed the highball glass on a white doily coaster.

  “We were at high school together! You were one of that group.” Something I couldn’t identify passed across her features and she laughed.

  “You’re Jack!” she said. I nodded.

  “I’m embarrassed to say that I never knew your name though.”

  “Elise.” She stretched a slender arm, pale at the wrist, across the bar and shook my hand.

  “We weren’t in the same year?”

  “I think I was the one below you. I was class of 2008,” she said. I nodded.

  “I was done in 2007.”

  “Your hair really suits you short.” I ruffled the back of it, never tiring of the feeling of the downy crop beneath my fingers.

  “Thanks,” I said. I was a little nonplussed. She had been one of the crew my friends had called The Plastics. Not because they were bitches, but because they were identically flawless. The kind of girls who get their tits done for their 18th birthday present.

  “I’m surprised you know my name,” I said, somewhat inelegantly.

  “Oh, you were around a lot.”

  “Yeah, student politics committee, school newspaper editor. I guess I was.” I shrugged, self-conscious. She hadn’t taken her gaze off mine. Her eyes were unusual, large, pale green, and almond-shaped. I had the odd sense that she was taking me all in, assessing me. “Do you go to college here?” I said.

  “Yup, I go to state.”

  “Me too. What’s your excuse for coming all the way out here?”

  “My dad died in my senior year of high school. My parents were already divorced, and my mom has an endless stream of shady boyfriends who make her life hell. I had no place to stay. But my sister had moved over here, and she lets me live in her spare room.” The sentences came out neatly, as if she had taught herself to deliver them with no emotion.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I managed to say.

  “Dad dying tore me apart at the time. I kind of went off the rails for a while. But it’s a few years ago now. Life goes on, you know?” She gave
me a small smile, but I had nothing to offer her in return. Her revelation had hit me from left field. And it had never occurred to me that The Plastics had anything but perfect lives, with adorable families. “So what’s yours?”

  “My what?”

  “Excuse for being here.”

  “Oh, the course here was better than the one in-state.” I said, guilt washing over me at my innocent, over-achieving motivations.

  “It’s great you got to go to a good school,” she said, and dipped her head to the straw in her cocktail and took a sip. It was kind of cute the way she did that, instead of lifting the glass up. There was something unaffected about it, as if she’d been doing it since she was a kid and had never thought to change it.

  “This is possibly the best cocktail I’ve ever tasted!” she said.

  “You’re just flattering me.”

  “No.” She took another sip and looked up at me from the straw, her eyes picking up the midori-hued lighting that backed the bar. “It’s really complex, and dry, with no sweetness at all. Ok, maybe a Martini is still my absolute favorite, but this is my long drink favorite!” I grinned at her, impressed by her palate.

  A guy elbowed up to the bar, bellowing his order before I’d even looked in his direction. I rolled my eyes at her.

  “I should get back to my friends,” Elise said.

  “Stop by before you leave tonight, ok?” She smiled assent and went back to her table.

  Things got busy again; a horde of thirty-somethings with things to celebrate tag-teamed a never-ending run of orders, and I forgot all about her for a while. I liked it when it was busy, not happy-hour crazy, but with one order after another, maybe a minute or so between each one, and no-one lined up at the bar. This is how time went fastest, and before I knew it, Val was clapping me on the back, saying “good work, kid. Wanna tell those folk it’s their last chance tonight?” As I was walking around tables, I remembered Elise again, but she wasn’t where she’d been earlier. Were those her friends? I hadn’t paid them much attention before. I’m not what you might call the most observant of people. But, as I went back to the bar with three final drink orders to make up, she was on her way back from the restroom.

  “Hey!” she called. She looked radiant, eyes bright and cheeks a little flushed. Perhaps the cocktail had done its work. I’d made it a little stronger than usual. An idea sparked in my mind.

  “Hey, I’m glad I caught you,” I said. “I just thought I’d mention, seeing as you’re a student – a friend of mine is looking for a model for a photo shoot she’s doing this weekend. She has a small fashion line, and she needs some images for her website. I think you’d be perfect. She pays cash and a pretty good rate. Let me know if you’re interested in doing a day’s work for her?” Elise’s eyes widened and her mouth made a small O.

  “But I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said after a pause.

  “You’ll be a natural, I can tell. And you’d be doing Tatiana a huge favor. She’s been having a hard time finding models, since none of her friends are exactly suitable!”

  “Why doesn’t she use you?” she asked.

  “Uh – ” We both blushed at the same moment. “Well, aesthetics aside, I’m pretty camera shy.”

  “Oh. I can’t say it’s my favorite pastime. My dad was always taking photos of me while I was growing up though, so I’m pretty accustomed to having a camera in my face. If I agree to do this, what will it involve?”

  “Just some shots in different outfits and poses, I guess. Nothing too fancy. It’s the first time Tatiana’s done this, so she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, to be honest with you! Her boutique is doing well though, so she can afford to pay you properly.” I waited while Elise stared at the floor for a while.

  “Ok, yes, I guess I’ll do it,” she said.

  “Great! Give me your contact details and I’ll let her know, and find out what she can pay you?” Elise pulled her phone out of her purse, and we swapped contact details.

  “Oops, fat fingers,” she said, typing my number into her phone for the second time.

  “I was planning to swing by at some point, so I’ll see you there,” I said. “Sorry, I’d better go.” I squeezed her shoulder, aware that we’d been talking for a few minutes, and that a couple of customers were staring daggers at me.

  “See you Saturday,” Elise said. She waved as she returned to her friends.

  *

  “I’ve just found the perfect girl for you!” I said, as soon as Tatiana answered her cell.

  “What does she look like?” her loud, slightly Russian-accented voice said immediately.

  “She’s about 5’7, with long blonde hair. She’s regulation pretty, big eyes, I guess. Full lips.”

  “And what’s her figure like?” Tatiana interrupted.

  “Size 4, I’m pretty sure. I had a good look at her as she was walking around.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “For research purposes only. And she’s in shape. You know, classic thin, pretty, straight girl.”

  “And where did you find her?”

  “I just ran into her at DeeBee’s. We were at high school together, actually.”

  “That’s a coincidence,” she said and giggled.

  “What’s funny?” I said. “Are you high?” She giggled more freely this time.

  “Maybe. Jess and I might have had a smoke or two to celebrate receiving all the samples for my new line!”

  “Tati, that’s great!”

  “Yeah, it’s awesome. Now we need to hope that they’re true to size. The girl sounds perfect. Can you tell her I can pay her $300 for the shoot? And now can you get your butt over here and celebrate with us?” Her voice had become a little slurred. Knowing her as I did, she’d more likely than not be asleep by the time I took myself over.

  “I’d love to, but have to go home and finish a paper for tomorrow,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, and I could hear Jess laughing in the background. I longed to be in their den, with its comfy sofas and dark red walls, full of laughter and the mingled scents of incense and cannabis. But I had to get back to my desk; my paper was already overdue.

  “Need a ride, Jack?” Val called as I picked up my bag from out the back. I looked with affection at his craggy, weather-beaten face and the cloud of unkempt salt-and-pepper hair receding towards the crown, which I’d seen more days than not over the past three years. He hid it well, but he was reliably three sheets to the wind by this time of night.

  “No, I feel like walking. Thanks though,” I said. “Look after yourself, Val, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waved from the office, and I hoped that he wouldn’t be there for the time it took him to get to the bottom of the half-empty bottle of scotch sitting on his desk.

  The night was fresh, and cool enough for a jacket. I never got tired of these pure, sharp nights. I walked fast, enjoying being by myself. I needed it after a busy shift. No-one wanting anything from me, at least for a few minutes. My cell was on silent, and I left it in my jacket pocket when I arrived home, made an espresso, switched on my desk lamp, and settled down to analyze the intricacies of Jacobean English drama.

  Chapter Two

  Elise

  My heart sank as we walked into the bar. There were gold trimmings and glossy black surfaces, in a subtle Art Deco style, along with period furniture, a chandelier, and black and gold fishtail floor tiles. In short, it was way fancier than I could afford. And then I saw her.

  Girls who look like that have a tendency to catch my eye anyway, and it took me only a millisecond longer to realize who she was. My mouth became as dry as the Mojave in a heatwave, and my kneecaps clattered together. I stumbled into my seat at our table of four, and peered at her across the room. The hair was no longer a disheveled mop, but it was undoubtedly her: the girl who had tormented me throughout high school, and cost me many a sleepless night. And she’d had absolutely no idea.

  A cocktail in a martini glass appeared at my elbow,
and, as I lifted it in a happy birthday toast to my friend Elaine, some of the drink sloshed over the side. My hand was shaking. My heart was also thudding in my chest. I probably looked crazy. I took a couple of deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down.

  “Elise, what is it? You’ve gone really pale,” Andie, my best friend muttered close to my ear.

  “No-nothing,” I stammered. “This drink’s just a little stronger than I expected.” She laughed, face relaxing in relief.

  “Good! We’ve gotta get Elaine loaded tonight, so she doesn’t think about bailing and running off home to Dan!”

  “Here’s to that!” I said.

  I mentally shook myself out, and forced myself to join the conversation, saying the right things in the right places. But I was being hit by a tide of memories. Against my will, my eyes kept turning themselves towards her. The green lighting from the bar reflected on her face, the features I knew so well: the well-shaped eyebrows, the straight nose with a curve right at the tip, the sloping cheekbones, the angular jaw, the large, thickly-lashed eyes, and the firm, yet full lips. Her gestures, the friendly, confident way she spoke to people were like old friends. She turned her glance in my direction and I dipped my head.

  My teenage crush, who I thought I’d never see again, was right there in front of me, four years older and even hotter than before. Seeing her after all this time was like coming face to face with a celebrity. When I’d moved away from my hometown, I’d said goodbye to a lot of things forever – like my childhood, my father, my sense of having a home – and one of those things had been Jack. My bittersweet, unrequited, and only true love affair of my life.

  I actually hadn’t thought about her for a good while. In my senior year of high school, she’d already graduated, and I’d pined for her badly. The spark of excitement that had woken me up every morning with the knowledge that I’d see her that day was gone. After I’d graduated and started college, she’d been on my mind more or less all the time. By the end of my freshman year, I thought about her less often, and, by the start of my junior year, I had put her in a box in a dark corner of my mind, to be kept safe and not taken out.