Always Her (Lesbian Romance)

by Alexandra Delancey

  “Over here!” I could just make out the sparkling white of her smile.

  “Look at her like you want her!” Tati said. I let out a yelp of panicked laughter, and felt my face heating up.

  “Yeah, that’s good, the photographer said. “You look full of suppressed desire.” My cheeks burned even more, and I fought an urge to run away. But Jack was looking at me steadily, holding my gaze. Everyone else fell away, and all I was aware of was her, and the intimacy of her eyes meeting mine. I wished she could look at me like that forever. “Now sit on that stool.” I turned my head to locate the stool and the tension broke. When I looked back again, I couldn’t see her anymore.

  After that, I went through 12 outfit changes – Tatiana’s complete line. When I took a comfort break half way through, Jack appeared at my side with the hip flask.

  “Just to keep you in your happy place,” she said. “It’s awful when you stop drinking and a headache kicks in, isn’t it?”

  Four hours later we were done.

  “You did a great job,” Tatiana said, and handed me six $50 bills. “Thank you so much!”

  “It was a pleasure. I kind of enjoyed it,” I said, surprising myself. It actually hadn’t been such a bad morning’s work. Jack walked up to me with a grin. She was holding some girl’s hand. My stomach hit the floor. Inside half a second, I registered that the girl was pretty and feminine, she looked cool and edgy, like all the girls here, and nothing like me, and she obviously adored Jack. It was such a shock after the high I’d been on at finishing the shoot that I thought I was going to be sick. The girl introduced herself as Jack’s girlfriend, and I mumbled my name, and had to repeat myself. The girl’s eyes narrowed, perplexed.

  “Are you ok?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine thanks. It gets hot under those lights,” I said. My forehead broke out in perspiration, and I wiped it with my forearm.

  “We were planning on going out for food. Would you like to come? It’ll be my treat to say thanks for doing the shoot,” Jack said.

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got to get to work for my regular job,” I replied, relieved that I didn’t have to think of an excuse for not joining them.

  “Oh, where do you work?” Jack’s girlfriend, Christie, said.

  “At the new diner – Norma Jean’s.”

  “Well, that’s a coincidence. That’s just where we were headed!” Christie said. “We’ll give you a ride.” My stomach dropped again. There wasn’t going to be any escape from them.

  “Thanks,” I said, short of any excuse.

  “Did you want to take your make-up off first?” Jack asked.

  “No, I might keep it on. I think they might actually appreciate it at the diner. I always think I look boring compared to the other girls.”

  We said goodbye to Tati and headed to a beat up old car.

  “So do you rollerskate and shit?” Christie yelled, over the noise of the engine. It was coughing and wheezing alarmingly, but Jack and Christie seemed unconcerned.

  “No. Which is a problem in the diner. They gave me the job, but said I had to learn within the first month, or I’m out.”

  “That’s more than a little pretentious,” Jack said.

  “I guess it’s their USP, so I can’t really complain.”

  “USP?”

  “Unique selling point, doofus,” Christie said cheerfully. “Honestly, she’s such a luddite,” she said, turning to me in the backseat. “Sometimes I wonder if she exists in the real world at all.”

  “Umm, because being obsessed with consumerism is ‘real’,” Jack said. “I like words and I like people. And yes, I do have a shitty cell phone, and I don’t care.” Christie pulled a face at her, as I watched, an unwilling backseat voyeur. Every intimacy between them was a stab in my chest. They had that closeness that couples only have when they’ve spent a lot of time together. Christie was constantly bickering at Jack, and for the most part she brushed it off, as if Christie was a disruptive child, desperate for some attention. I couldn’t tell whether Jack returned Christie’s devotion. She was sweet to her, but I thought I sensed some distance, and then decided it was wishful thinking.

  “So, do you get to eat before you start shift?” Christie asked, as we pulled up at Norma Jean’s.

  “Yeah, we can have anything off the menu. Which I’ve got to stop doing, if I don’t want to have a heart attack before I’m 25!” I said. “We have to eat it out the back though.” This wasn’t true, but I had to avoid them asking me to join them.

  “I love this place!” Christie said, climbing out of the car. “We came here for the first time last week, and I think it’s going to be a new favorite, so you’ll be seeing plenty of us here.”

  “Great!” I said, swallowing knives. If they started coming here regularly, I’d have to quit. There was no way I could stand to watch them together.

  I passed them onto one of the servers, saying they were friends of mine, and then I escaped to the kitchen. I slipped out the back, into smokers’ alley and leaned against the wall, releasing a drawn-out sigh.

  I felt stupid for not envisioning that Jack would have a girlfriend. And of course Jack would be with a hipster like Christie. She could have any girl she wanted, and she was bound to choose someone cool and different, not a mainstream chick like me, who wore bland girly dresses and sometimes listened to Celine Dion in secret. I took my phone out. Jared had sent me a sweet message, saying he hoped that the shoot was going well. I had a pang of self-disgust. My boyfriend was being caring, as usual, while I was in emotional turmoil over some girl I had a ridiculous crush on being with someone else.

  I needed to get ahold of myself. The shoot was done, so I had no need to see Jack ever again. I’d give DeeBee’s a wide berth, and, if I ever saw her in here again, I’d just quit. I needed to get on with my life and focus on having a happy future with Jared, so I had to do whatever it took to make that happen.

  The door to the kitchen opened and Ben, the dishwasher, came out, a cigarette already between his lips. He was 16 and skinny as a polecat, with acne peppering his jaw and forehead. As I lifted my head up to say hello, he flattened himself against the wall, as if an earthquake was juddering through the building.

  “Jesus, Elise, I hardly recognized you!” he said. I shook my head at his clowning.

  “Is it too much?”

  “No, you look really good,” he said. My mood lifted an inch. I’d never be able to make myself look like this, but I was going to enjoy it for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Five

  Jack

  I’d done the right thing getting Elise the gig, I told myself as I was setting up for the evening shift at DeeBee’s. Nice work – Suzie straightlace looks great on camera! the message Tatiana had sent a little earlier said. I’m sure she’d love to hear that assessment of herself!! I messaged back. I had been struck by how different Elise looked when she was made up, but that was normal – everybody did. I’d actually been more surprised to see how natural she’d looked when she turned up in jeans and a t-shirt. Back at high school, The Plastics were always dressed more for Madison Avenue than for algebra and anatomy, so it was possibly the first time I’d seen her like that. There was something appealing about her being so fresh-faced. She’d seemed softer and more approachable. I mused at my reaction for a moment, before getting back to ice buckets and glass polishing.

  I liked Saturdays. There was no happy hour, and prices were high enough to keep drunken groups out. Not that our town was a magnet for stag and bachelorette nighters. There were a couple of subdued birthday parties, and, apart from that, it was a smooth evening of mostly simple drinks, with enough of the complicated ones to stop me from being bored. There were two of us working bar, and the other bartender was fast and good at mixing, and we had a new barback, who was keeping the glasses coming through efficiently.

  Late in the evening, a familiar small-boned face emerged from the crowd.

  “Alyssa!” I called, excited to see her. She�
��d returned my previous message curtly, and we hadn’t spoken since.

  “Is it ok if I sit at the bar?” she asked, her face full of uncertainty.

  “Of course! Pull up a stool!” She climbed onto one of the high stools and deposited her purse on the bar. She watched in silence as I mixed a lavender martini.

  “What’s up?” I said, after I’d carried it over to the customer.

  “Oh, I just finished work earlier than I expected, and I wasn’t far away, so I thought I’d drop in and see you,” she said. Now I noticed that she was very dressed up, in a black, strapless cocktail dress, hair pulled up into a French knot, neither of which were her usual style.

  “How did it go?”

  “I had to go to dinner with a Russian businessman, and make out that I was his girlfriend. But when the girlfriend of the other guy went to the bathroom, I’m pretty sure that he told the guy I was a prostitute. They were speaking in Russian, obviously, but they kept gesturing at me and looking me up and down, as if I was being assessed like a side of beef at the butcher’s. And they kept saying this word, shlyuka, which means whore, according to Google translator.

  “And then what happened?”

  “He asked me if I wanted to party with him, ‘off the books’. I made my excuses and left, but not before his sleazy friend had tried to grope me.” I met her eyes. They were huger than ever and liquid black.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That must have been awful.” I wanted to say a lot more. I was boiling with rage inside, but the last thing she needed right now was a lecture. She shrugged, her shoulder impossibly slender.

  “Ultimately, it was harmless. And they don’t know me. Why the hell should I care what they think?” I nodded.

  “Very true. You still got paid, right?”

  “Of course. The agency handles the payment, with a 60/40 split.”

  “Wow, they must be doing pretty well for themselves. Maybe I should think about setting up an escort agency myself.”

  “A lesbian one, right?”

  “Of course! Are you in?”

  “Yes! I might even do full service!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Only if they were hot.” Her eyes twinkled, and I was relieved to see her spirits lift a little. I put a menu in front of her.

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  “Something long and complex,” she said.

  “Ok, I can do that. I turned away from her and selected the spirits.

  “Can you show me some tricks?”

  “You mean flair bartending?”

  “If that’s what you call it.”

  “Ok, but just for you.” I threw the cocktail shaker over my shoulder, caught it on my elbow, flicked the ice over my head and caught it behind my back. “Is that good enough?”

  “It’ll do, she said, with a grin. “Do you enjoy doing it?”

  “Sometimes. It was mainly a way into working in well-paying bars, but the more effort I put into making good drinks these days, the less time I have to do it. I can teach you though. And then you could work in bars too?”

  “Dude, have you seen me playing pool? Coordination isn’t my strong point!” I poured the finished cocktail into a highball glass. It was a Smoky Bandit – mezcal, ginger, lemon and agave.

  “Fair enough,” I said “Just a suggestion.” Alyssa sipped her drink.

  “This is outstanding. Really delicious.”

  “Glad you like it.” I smiled at her.

  I left her alone as I went to serve some customers. It was 15 minutes until I could speak to her again. She’d almost finished the drink and her eyelids were heavier than before.

  “This sucks,” she said, jabbing at her ice with her straw.

  “What does, little one?”

  “Being at college. I just want to get finished and start earning money.” She sucked the remainder of the drink through the straw. “Before I started, I couldn’t wait to major in Literature, to start reading all of these books, and write long essays, full of my opinions. But I spend most of my time thinking about earning money. I just want to graduate so I can get a real job, instead of all the crap I’ve been doing for the past few years.”

  “I do understand, Alyssa. I know things have been really hard for you lately. But I hope you’ll also be able to look back on it, and remember your studies and the friendships you’ve made with happiness.”

  “Of course I will. It’s been so great to get to know you guys, and I know we’ll always be friends.” She put her hand, cold from holding the glass, on my arm. “There’s more though.”

  “What?”

  “It’s my mother.” She inhaled a long breath through her nostrils. “She’s sick. Really sick. And the insurance won’t cover it all. We’ve got crazy medical bills to pay.”

  “Is she going to be ok?” She gave a brief nod.

  “With a bit of luck. But this stress isn’t helping at all. So I’ve got to do whatever it takes to help.”

  “I’m really sorry, Alyssa.”

  “I’ve been wondering if I should drop out of school this year, and come back to it when I’m in a better position. But I don’t know. This work is all in the evenings anyway, so it doesn’t get in the way of my classes, and the hours are flexible. It pretty much rules out having a relationship in the meantime though. I need to work as much as I can, and I’d have a hard time explaining why I’m not available most days.”

  “Please let me know if I can help – with writing papers, anything. And anytime you need to talk, make sure you’ve got me at the top of your list.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I really appreciate your friendship,” she said. “And please don’t mention this to anyone else. I couldn’t deal with everyone feeling sorry for me.”

  “That’s a given. Do you want to stick around until I’m done? I’ve got the car tonight so I can drop you off.”

  “Thanks, but I’m really tired, and I think I just want to pass out and not have to think about anything. The agency pays for my taxi home – I can just expense it to them.” I stepped out from behind the bar and gave her a hug. She clung onto me tightly.

  “Message me when you’re home.”

  “I will.”

  A girl from a strict, religious family, forced to hide her sexuality from them, and then forced to work as an escort to pay her mother’s medical bills. There was a terrible irony in there somewhere, I thought, watching her leave the bar, other people’s eyes trailing after her as well.

  *

  Christie and I had a tense week, full of bickering and misunderstandings. She was anxious about her parents visiting, I understood that. So, I let her get on with her usual snark, and tried my hardest to brush it off. I was dreading the weekend. I hadn’t yet decided whether I’d meet her parents, but either option was going to be negative for me. Option A: I’d have to deal with the discomfort of Mommy and Daddy Fowler hating me on sight, or Option B: I’d have Christie totally resenting me. I didn’t think I deserved this. There I was, having fun dating someone, still at the stage of getting to know them, and then this big serious thing was coming my way. I wasn’t holding out on Christie deliberately, and I didn’t enjoy causing her emotional discomfort. I just had a really strong aversion to meeting her parents, and it was only because I wanted to make her happy that I was still considering it.

  I was turning these things over in my mind when I saw a familiar sweep of blonde hair in the library. After checking that it actually was Elise who was frowning over a row of books, I walked up behind her and touched her shoulder, saying “hey!” She jumped, and, as she turned around, I registered both the hugeness of her green eyes, and the expression on her face. It was the look of someone feeling several things at the same time, and trying to get them all under control.

  “Hey, yourself!” she said, after a pause. “Are you stalking me?” Distractedly, I noticed that she had a smattering of freckles on her nose, and across her cheeks. She was wearing a powder blue hooded sweatshirt, and the same jeans she’
d been wearing at the shoot. She looked very cute, I thought, and then wondered why I was thinking that.

  “Sorry. It’s not in my nature to hold back when I see people I know. I’m like a friendly puppy. Should I leave you though? I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The tension in her face dissolved into a grin.

  “No, not at all. I just need to find one book. It’s supposed to be on this shelf, but all the weird reference codes are confusing me.”

  “I’ll help you out. What’s it called?” She told me and we went through the shelf together, starting at opposite ends.

  “You’re majoring in history?”

  “No, psychology. I just needed some historical background to one of my papers,” she said.

  “Yeah, I was thinking I would’ve seen you in the English and history department before.”

  “If you were looking,” she said, flashing me a sly glance.

  We found the book at the exact same moment, three bookcases away from where it was supposed to be, clashing knuckles as we pulled it out. She drew her hand back quickly.

  “It better be good, after all that effort,” I said, handing it to her.

  “I’m just hoping it’s straightforward. My understanding of history is pretty rudimentary. Thanks for your help.” She pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, if you’re not busy, do you feel like going for coffee?”

  “Sure!” I said. “But do you mind if we go to a place I know outside? The faculty café can be a little institutional.”

  “Yeah, and if it’s anything like the one by the psychology department, by this time of the day, the tables will be a grease slick,” she said, and laughed.

  It was a flicker of wickedness that prompted me to take her to the lesbian-friendly café just around the corner. But I reasoned that it was part of my mission to improve dyke visibility. I peered through the door. On a sunny day, the dark, quirky interior was gloomy and dusty.