by Nikki Rashan
“Jeff, I had to sleep with her to know if what I felt was real,” I explained, an unsuitable defense in his eyes.
“Spare me this bullshit, Kyla. For real. Just tell me one thing—do you love her?”
I hesitated, closed my eyes, and sighed; my answer would permanently redirect the course of my life.
“Yes, I do,” I answered honestly.
“I hope you realize what you’re doing, Kyla.”
I didn’t respond, just moved aside, and he walked out of the door.
Only after I was sure he left, did I return to the living room. Tori, Vanessa, and David were gone, leaving me confronted with the confused faces of my parents and sister. Of course Yvonne was more baffled by the fact that I actually chose Steph over Jeff, considering she was already aware of my relationship with Steph when she overheard the conversation I had with David about falling in love with her. My mother, who knew there was “someone else,” nearly doubled over in what appeared to be excruciating pain when she learned that the someone else was the woman she’d welcomed into her home a few months before. My gracious father, who I will forever appreciate for that moment, although clearly disappointed, simply hugged me and held me in his arms until the tears subsided.
While driving home, my mother’s words played repeatedly through my mind. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life,” she’d warned. Had I? I needed to pull the car to the side of the road twice, just to gain composure and ease the shaky nerves racing through my body.
A nervous voice mail message from Vanessa greeted me once I got home that evening. Um, Ky, it’s me. Uh, Jeff called and asked me to come pick up your things from his place tomorrow, so, um, that’s what I’m going to do. Just call me when I can bring them to you. Call me anyway. A pause followed and I thought she was about to hang up, but she added, I love you, Ky.
The next voice message, which was from Tori, still haunts me to this day. She called me every degrading and derogatory euphemism for lesbian ever devised, and others created from her perverted imagination. By the time she referred to me as a “carpet-munching, fish-eating, pussy-licking, stank-ass dyke,” I hit the erase button and cried again, surprised I still had any tears left at all.
I never saw Jeff or Steph again before I moved to Atlanta. After Jeff left my mother’s house that day, he made it clear to me through an e-mail that under no circumstances was I to contact him for any reason whatsoever. He assured me that although he was hurt that I left him for a woman, he was most angry that I left him at all.
It was difficult not to call him, or even respond to his e-mail. I desperately wanted him to know how sorry I was. But I could apologize a hundred times over and the result would still be the same. Stephanie was who I wanted.
After Steph crushed my dreams of a blissful life together just two days later, I resumed my bedridden state for a week. Incessant worries of whether or not I had done the right thing drove me near insanity. I had lost two people who both were so willing to sacrifice their self-respect and allow me time to figure out what I wanted. Jeff, who, without my knowledge, patiently watched me fall for a woman, yet believed in me and our love enough to concede to the moment, faithful that it would pass. Steph, against her own conviction, submitted to falling in love with a woman in love with a man, a place she had vowed never to find herself. I could only hope they both would forgive me for the heartache I caused them.
Vanessa continued to offer her friendship, though my grief and embarrassment shielded me from the outside world. Just David was granted access to my pain, confusion, doubt, and finally, resolution of what lay ahead for me. Only after a week of intense crying sessions, agonizing soul-searching, and foot-stomping anger toward myself was I able to conclude the following: the euphoria I felt in the presence of Stephanie was like none I had ever experienced. Not with Jeff nor with any other man prior to him. I concluded that in order to understand the depth to which those emotions derived, I needed to further explore relationships with other women. I was so scared! I hadn’t known any lesbians before Steph. How would it feel to touch a woman that was not her?
At David’s urging, he and I attended the annual black pride gathering in Atlanta that fall, him believing that by my submerging myself into a sea of lesbian women, I would overcome my fear of testing a relationship with a woman other than Stephanie.
David accompanied me to a party the first night we were there, and didn’t need to chaperone me anymore after that. From the moment I stepped inside the door, I was overwhelmed with a sense of belonging. Surrounded by other women loving women felt right for me. It was comfortable, and I knew in an instant that was where I wanted to be. That weekend I experienced highs of emotional freedom so extreme that denying my longing and loving for a woman would have been impossible. During our thirteen-hour ride home, I expressed my desire to David about a move to Atlanta. Tired of the hometown scene himself, he asked to come along. And from there it went.
Of all folks to run into before I left, Tori had to be the one. With seven days in a week and fifty-two of them throughout the year, I’m mystified by the fact that both Tori and I wound up at the gym to cancel our memberships at the same time. Fate just had to try to knock me down one more time. I hadn’t been to the gym since Christmas-time, and I was unsure whether or not Tori and Vanessa had continued the Monday-morning workout routine until that unfortunate day. As soon as I exited the elevator, I saw her leaning against the counter, fussing with a young lady about a refund she felt was owed to her.
“Fuck it, I don’t want your money. Just cancel me then,” she said angrily, and turned her back to the girl.
When her eyes met mine, she groaned in disgust, not at all as caught off guard as I was by our unexpected encounter. “This is half the reason I don’t want to come here anymore. Can’t even go in the locker room without feeling like I’m being molested,” she said, talking to the confused girl, but staring at me. “All these lesbians running around here, I can’t shower without watching my back.”
At mention of the L word, all heads in earshot turned in our direction, focusing on the person to whom Tori’s words were geared: me. I quickly attempted to conceal the panic rising inside of me and gained my composure. I couldn’t allow Tori’s vicious behavior to rile me up. Curious eyes followed me as I walked to the counter, all the while Tori continued to spit nasty comments in my favor. Choosing to ignore her, I asked the flustered young lady for the papers to cancel my membership.
“Not enough pussy in here for you, Kyla?” Tori asked.
Was I being a coward by not responding to her attack? If so, I didn’t care. I had developed enough respect for myself not to act a fool with Tori or anyone else about my sexuality. She could make an ass out of herself on her own. But, damn, I never knew my being a lesbian would cause such a stir in people.
My relationship with Gladyce was slowly coming around. We talked on the phone on a regular basis, but the conversation almost always reverted to her checking to see if I’d gotten back “right” yet. My dad had been down to visit me on several occasions, continuing to love me no matter whom I love in my bedroom. And, Yvonne, that girl married Byron after all. Just before I hit the road with my U-Haul, I was maid of honor in my baby sister’s wedding. She was pregnant with their first child now. Guess he wasn’t so fearful of becoming a father after all.
Vanessa and Roger finally moved to Chicago where she was an anchorwoman in the prime-time slot for the highest rated channel in the city. And, Tori, well, my girl was serious. She cut all ties with me like she never even knew me. I haven’t seen nor spoken to her since our incident at the gym. I guess there’s no way around it. Some people just aren’t cool with gay people, no matter who they are.
I still don’t talk to Jeff often. We drop each other an e-mail every once in a while just as a courtesy check-in, but that may be coming to a halt very soon. Gladyce informed me that he’s chosen a new bride and is due to get married next year. And with all my heart, I hope he’s found the ha
ppiness he deserves.
I was finishing my drink when my cell phone started vibrating. I reached in my purse and looked at the glowing blue screen in the dim light. Quit standing there and bring your ass over here the letters in the text message said to me.
I looked around and saw Angie, standing in the corner of the club dressed in khaki shorts and a white T-shirt, her cell phone in her hand. Angie was a soft stud, one of the first I met when I got here. Cute as hell, though she wore no makeup except for the occasional mascara and clear lip gloss for special events like black pride. But the girl knew how to work it. I damn near went into convulsions just by the girl’s touch. Yep, she was the one for tonight.
I’ll be there in 25, I typed back to her. She nodded her head and went out the door. I stepped into the bathroom and unpinned my hair, letting it fall past my shoulders. Angie was good for grabbing a girl’s hair when she was . . . well, never mind.
I went outside and absorbed the humid night air. I got into my convertible Mustang and blasted a Maxwell CD as I took 85 South to Angie’s apartment in East Point. This was just what I needed after working sixty hours this week at Rich’s, where I’m a buyer (all those years at the department store finally paid off). My body needed some attention and a little somethin’-somethin’ to help me unwind. Yeah, this shit was about to be on tonight!
Urban Books, LLC
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Deer Park, NY 11729
Double Pleasure, Double Pain © Copyright 2007 Nikki Rashan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6228-6172-9
First Mass Market Printing October 2012
First Trade Printing May 2008
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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