“Really?” That shocked me. Boston was a fairly gay-friendly place.
“I work in finance. It’s still a good ol’ boys club. Announcing I’m a lesbian would have been catastrophic.”
“And that bothered Lucy?” It seemed petty. I mean, Sam was in the closet just to keep her job, which was understandable. I would have been supportive.
“It was the way I handled it. One night I invited Lucy out with some coworkers. I hadn’t told Lucy I wasn’t out at work, and when she showed up, one of my coworkers asked how she knew me. I panicked, jumped in, and said, ‘We’ve been friends since grade school.’ It was a lie, of course. For the rest of the night, this one dude kept hitting on me right in front of Lucy. I didn’t say anything. Oh boy, was she pissed. I don’t think she ever got over it. Then, when I started working longer and longer hours, well, everything fell apart.”
I bit my lip, wondering how I would have handled it if Kat had done something like that to me. I don’t think I would have been all that happy, to be honest.
“I see.” It was all I could think to say.
Samantha raised her beer glass, cradling it against her cheek. “I really can’t blame Lucy. I would have been pissed as well. I don’t think she thought I would cheat on her, but she didn’t like me allowing men to hit on me without informing them I was in a relationship or without giving them the cold shoulder.” Her expression grew sad again. “Guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore…on both fronts.”
“You don’t think Lucy can get past it?”
“Sometimes yes, and sometimes no. That woman is the most stubborn woman I know. That’s one of the things I love most about her, even though it bugs the shit out of me.” Sam laughed, and then burped. “How are things with Kat?”
“Good.” Taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, I looked away from her and added, “I guess.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”
“How do I put this?” I rubbed my hands together nervously. “I love the woman to pieces. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, and loving. But for the life of me, I can’t understand why she has no ambition. She can dance, sing…and she’s an artist…but she does nothing with her talents. I don’t expect her to go out and make millions, but I want her to do something. Anything. Anything other than just go shopping with my mom.”
The bartender approached with two more beers.
“Thanks,” I said, not all that thrilled about it. I didn’t take a sip, just continued my story. “The other day, I came home and she was super excited. She said she had a solution to our money woes.”
Samantha leaned in closer to hear it.
“Kat and her friends were all going to listen to a call-in radio show and try to win fifty grand by being the first caller in some crazy contest. That was her solution.” I shook my head. “And I think she really thought she’d succeed.”
Samantha let out a laugh, and then quickly covered her mouth.
“You can laugh. I know it’s crazy. She gets in these really strange moods, and I just don’t know how to react. And then there’s her shopping …” I let my words die.
“Do you think she’s a shopaholic?” Samantha’s tone was serious.
“You mean, like in that book?”
“Yeah. If she shops as much as you’re insinuating, and you two are broke, I think there’s a major issue going on.”
“Huh. I just thought she was a spoiled brat.” I worried Samantha would think I was an ass for saying that about my girlfriend.
“Well, that could be the case.”
I slumped back against the booth and looked at the ceiling. “I just wish she’d show some passion…besides…in the bedroom.” That I’d actually uttered the last bit shocked the hell out of me. The booze was going to my head.
Samantha shouted, “I knew it!”
I felt my face flood with heat and color. I wished I had some ice water to cool it off.
“The first time I saw her, I knew she was a vixen in bed. Score, Cori!” She high-fived me.
“A vixen at night. A spendthrift by day. Not a great combo.”
“Have her hang out with Lucy. That woman hasn’t bought any new clothes in the last decade.”
“Are you kidding? I would love that. Kat buys new clothes all the time, and she doesn’t even wear them. Soon I might have to rent a storage unit for all the clothes she buys. But when I get home at night, she’s wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of Victoria’s Secret sweats she’s had for years. I just don’t get it, at all.”
“She likes to show off her ta-tas in public.” Samantha chuckled.
“Oh, I’m aware. And do you know who helps her buy those tops? My mother!”
“Get out!”
“I’m not kidding. My mother is a sex-crazed maniac. Do you know the two of them started an erotica book club?”
Samantha couldn’t stop laughing for several seconds. “Maybe I should join. Lucy always teased me about being too vanilla.”
Outwardly, I smiled, but inwardly, I was disappointed. I always thought Sam had a naughty side, but then again, I always thought she was straight as well. I really didn’t know her at all back then.
“Kat says the same thing about me.” Again, my frankness surprised me. But it felt good to have someone to talk to. For months I had been holding all of this in and pretending everything was great. “Do you know what Mom did to me when I was little?”
Worry marred Samantha’s beautiful face for a moment.
“Oh, no! Nothing like that.”
Curiosity immediately replaced her anxiety.
“Once, when I was about twelve or thirteen, I had some friends over at the house. I can’t even remember how the conversation started, but Mom, who always had to be the funniest and coolest in any group, asked if we knew what oral sex was. I nodded, along with the rest of my friends, and Mom pounced.
“‘Really, Cori. What is it?’ she asked.
“I didn’t actually know. I mean I knew about blow jobs and such, but didn’t know the technical term, so I sputtered ‘Talking about sex.’”
“No! You didn’t!”
“I did! Some of my friends have never let me live that one down. God knows Mom didn’t. The first time I invited Kat to a family dinner, Mom mentioned it. Kat teased me the rest of the night. That was how she and my mother first bonded. Now, the erotic book club. I know Kat doesn’t read smut. She may not look like it, since her boobies are always spilling out of her shirt, but she loves classics and historical fiction. You should see how sexy she looks in bed, glasses on, wearing a tank top and lingerie, reading Oliver Twist. Smart women turn me on.”
Samantha bolted upright in her seat, both palms on the table. “I’m the same way. The first time I saw Lucy wear her glasses, I think I fell madly in love. And the fact that she’s a writer; well, that’s sexy as hell.”
I raised my glass. “To sexy intellectuals!”
Our food arrived, and Samantha dug in right away. After she had finished her first buffalo wing, she asked, “How come you never talked to me in high school?”
“I had a major crush on you.” I covered my mouth, but it was too late to curb my candor.
She smiled. “Maybe I should tell Kat whiskey is your truth serum.” Samantha dipped another wing into the blue cheese sauce. “I had a crush on you as well.”
“Really?” My voice cracked.
Samantha giggled. “Yeah. You were the top jock in the school, but you had a sensitive side. You always had your nose in a book. I remember the day I discovered you in the back of the gym reading Wuthering Heights. I think I fell in love instantly…I at least swooned.” She winked at me.
“It’s a good book.” I bit into my veggie burger, smearing ranch sauce and Frank’s Red Hot Sauce all over my face. “How come you never told me?”
“How come you didn’t tell me?”
“Are you serious?” I cringed at the thought. “Every time you tried to talk to me, I couldn’t form a complet
e sentence.”
“I always thought that was cute.” Sam sipped her beer and followed it with a bite of onion ring.
“Well, now you tell me.” I winked at her.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t pursue it. Can you imagine: two vanillas trying to figure out lesbian sex together?”
I laughed. “We’d just dry hump each other’s legs until the cows came home.”
She laughed, spraying chunks of onion ring across the table. “I can’t believe Cori Tisdale just said ‘dry hump!’”
“Maybe I should get us another round of that whiskey truth serum, and I’ll start using words like vagina, vulva, tribadism, G-spots, dildos, rimming, clitoris, erogenous zones, post-coital bliss …” I motioned with my hand, implying etcetera.
“Goodness! Did Kat teach you all that, or is there more to the Brontë sisters than I thought?”
“I would love it if they mentioned rimming in their novels. Might make my students like them more. It’s like pulling teeth to get some of those shits to talk about the novels in class. There are days when I feel no one hears me, not even when I’m lecturing.”
Samantha nodded her understanding as she watched several customers stream in for the lunch rush.
“We could have attended prom together,” she said, finally.
“Oh, good Lord. My mother would have had a field day if the school refused to sell us tickets. I can see her now, marching in front of the school protesting homophobia in the education system. I bet she would have got the governor involved. Such a shame we didn’t let her.”
Samantha smiled. “My parents have always been cool with it as well. Of course, I’m bi, so they think there’s a glimmer of hope I’ll settle down with a man and have kids.”
“Do you think you would?” I nibbled on a French fry.
“Nah. I just like to have sex with men, not to be in a relationship with one. Women aren’t that much easier, but at least they talk. Of course, when Lucy used to sit me down for one of our talks, they would last forever. I would always think, ‘If she were a man, this would have been over in less than a minute.’”
“I totally get the ‘chats.’ When Kat starts one, I make sure I’m close to food and water. Who knows how long I’ll be held prisoner?”
“So what was it that attracted you to Kat—besides the obvious?”
“What do you mean, the obvious?” I fished for compliments.
Samantha saw right through me. “Hey, I thought we were here to help stroke my wounded ego, not yours! Besides, I don’t need to tell you your girlfriend is hot. After Lucy met her, she said, ‘That’s the most beautiful person I’ve met in real life.’ I was jealous as hell. I let Lucy have it.” Samantha snatched a chicken strip from the platter, as if someone else was going to nab it first.
“So, tell me,” she continued, “is her body as great as I think it is?” Her face turned crimson at the question, but she leaned forward, eager to hear the answer.
“Let me put it this way. If Michelangelo had seen Kat naked, he wouldn’t have messed with his David statue. Instead, there would just be one of Kat.”
Samantha set her beer glass down on the table. “I knew it! Man, I hate her.”
I thought I saw a fleeting look of panic cross her face.
“I mean, I’m jealous. I don’t really hate her,” she added quickly.
I waved her fears away. “Don’t worry about it. I hear things like that all the time. At first, I admit it was her looks. When I asked her out on the first date, all I could think of was getting Kat into bed. But then, when we started talking, she could carry on a conversation about Charles Dickens vs. Wilkie Collins—I know, not the sexiest conversation, but for me it was…A woman with a body to die for and brains. I…what did you say earlier…swooned.”
“Wilkie Collins! That’s a new one.”
I grinned at the absurdity. “There’s one other thing. Every morning when we wake up, Kat smiles like she’s actually happy to see me. No one has ever made me feel that way. Every morning, for more than two years. Thank God she’s not tired of me yet.”
Or ashamed of my failure, I added mentally.
The bartender arrived with two more whiskey shots. I stifled a groan. I needed to go to the bathroom, but I was worried I might not make it there on my own without resembling a fall-down drunk. I asked him for a grilled cheese, hoping the bread would help soak up the alcohol. Samantha requested a pitcher of water. He smiled, understanding our dilemma. I was relieved that Sam had finally caved on the “no water” thing.
Once he had retreated behind the bar, I said, “All right, I spilled the beans. Now what about Lucy gets you all hot and bothered?”
“Everything,” she said in a breathy voice.
“Oh, come on! She must have some faults.”
“Yes! She has faults coming out the ying-yang, yet somehow I can never stop thinking about her. I feel like a teenage girl. Call me Bella Swan.”
“Who?” I felt my brow crinkle. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Oh my, you haven’t read Twilight?”
“The vampire book—the vampires who sparkle?” I was floored that Sam had read it, and that she even referenced it.
“Yes, that one. You have to read it. Promise me you will.” Her swollen eyes pleaded for me to agree.
“Okay, I promise. I have to admit it’s a better name for a love interest than Bathsheba Everdene?”
“Who’s named that? That name is hideous.” Her scrunched face conveyed her distaste.
“Oh my! You have to read Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd if you want me to read your sparkly vampire book.”
We raised our shot glasses. Neither of us looked very comfortable.
“You sure you want to?” Samantha’s eyes implored me to say no.
“Only if you do.”
She shrugged and tossed it back. I did too—reluctantly.
Chapter Nine
Hours later, I stumbled through my front door. Kat was sitting on the leather sofa, and so was my mother.
“Cori! Are you wasted?” Kat’s tone wasn’t pleasant.
“Um, I may be.” It was hard to suppress a nervous laugh, but I managed.
“I thought you were working on your novel today. What in the hell happened?” Kat raised one eyebrow. I think. I couldn’t actually see straight, but she always did that when she used that tone of voice. It punctuated her sternness.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on her face. “A friend called and needed someone to talk to.”
I’m pretty sure she crossed her arms, but I couldn’t really tell.
“Let me guess. Sam?”
“Yeah. She got some bad news…about her family and she didn’t want to be alone.” I sounded like a babbling idiot and a liar. But I had promised I wouldn’t tell anyone Sam had been laid off. I was sworn to secrecy about the Lucy bit, as well.
“Kat, would you mind making my daughter a strong cup of coffee?” Mom’s voice was firm, bordering on commanding.
“Hi, Mom!” I waved. I knew it wasn’t the right response, but my brain wasn’t functioning fully. Actually, it felt as if it were swelling up in my head.
“Cori, why don’t you have a seat before you topple over?” She actually used her motherly tone, which was highly unusual. I wondered what was up. Normally, she would find this kind of thing hysterical, since it was so unlike me.
I could hear Kat making coffee in the kitchen. From the sound of it, she was throwing some stuff around.
I whispered, “She’s mad.”
Mom harrumphed.
“I think you’re mad too… mad as a hatter!” I broke into hysterical drunken laughter.
“Oh, Cori. I’m not mad. I’m shocked. Totally taken aback by this. Who’s Sam?”
I sensed she was nervous.
“Don’t you remember Sam? The hot cheerleader when I played ball in high school.” I tried to rest my shoe on the edge of the glass coffee table, but
misjudged the distance and my foot crashed to the floor.
Mom grabbed my chin with her hand. “Cori, you need to shut up—now. One more word like that, and I won’t be able to protect you from Kat.”
I wiggled my chin free and rubbed it. “Don’t manhandle me.”
“Be glad I’m not putting you over my knee. Kat has been worried sick about you. She’s called and texted at least fifty times since four o’clock. And you were out getting drunk with a hot cheerleader.” Disdain dripped from every syllable.
“She’s not a cheerleader anymore. Finance. She’s a finance person.” I babbled. “And she’s in love with Lucy.”
“Are you in love with Sam?”
I shook my head slowly. I could feel my brain swishing back and forth in my head. Holding my head with both hands to stop the pain, I said, “No. I’m in love with Kat, but she’s mad at me.”
“Then, for the love of God, stay quiet. You obviously can’t handle your liquor.”
“Whiskey. Tastes like shit and burns. It’s truth serum.”
Mom couldn’t help laughing. “I wish Barbara could see you.”
“Where is she? She wouldn’t be mad at me.” I pouted.
“No. She might challenge you to strip down and run through the neighborhood, though.”
“Need more whiskey for that. You know who would? Kat! She’s the sexiest thing.”
Kat walked in at that moment. “Who’s the sexiest thing?”
Unfortunately, she only heard the last sentence. I was sure she thought I meant Samantha. I ducked, expecting her to throw the coffee cup at my head, which made me look even guiltier.
“You, Kat, according to my inebriated daughter.” Mom came to my defense.
“You don’t have to cover for her.” Kat set the cup down angrily, slopping coffee on the glass table.
“I’m not covering for her. You know I don’t lie. Apparently, if you get Cori drunk on whiskey, she loosens up some. Let’s get her somewhat sober and take her along tonight.”
“Take me along where?” I slurped the coffee, knowing I had to sober up fast to avoid losing Kat. At the very least, I would otherwise be in for one hell of a night of fighting and reassuring. My head wasn’t in the mood for that, and my tongue felt swollen and slime-covered.
Confessions From A Coffee Shop Page 13