LOVERS

by Roxy Harte

  “Good,” I say curtly, storming out of the kitchen. I should feel better, not worse. I end up feeling like a jealous freak…which is oh so much worse than just feeling like the normal everyday freak I am.

  The guests start arriving, and I don’t recognize more than a handful, thus ensuring my day will go down in history as one of the longest on record. And then she shows up.

  I race into the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me that she was coming?”

  Adrian looks up from putting the final touches on a plate of desserts. “Bianca?”

  “Sh-h!” I say. “I don’t want her to know we’re in here talking about her.”

  He laughs out loud before going back to sprinkling grated, candied lemon zest over his freshly iced petits fours.

  I don’t know whether to congratulate him on creating an amazing menu or kill him for not warning me that Bianca would be here. “Isn’t this something you should have told me?”

  “Why? I thought you liked Bianca. I thought you’d be glad to see her here. Relaxing atmosphere, no pressure, before we jump into the intimacy part.” He looks incredulous.

  How can he be surprised that I’m upset? I try to check out my reflection in the stainless refrigerator front. “Do I look ridiculous?” I look at him to gauge his reaction.

  He shakes his head, his brow wrinkling. “Ridiculous?”

  “Me?” I point at my clothes. “How I’m dressed. Is any of this registering in your brain?”

  He walks over and pulls me into a hug. “Bianca is going to think you are as beautiful and adorable as I do.”

  “I knew it. I look like an idiot.” I bury my face in my hands, wishing I’d stuck with my ball cap and baggy t-shirt instead of the fedora and fitted men’s shirt in eggplant.

  Adrian jerks my tie, making me look up at him. “You are hot.” He straightens my tie and tucks it back into my vest before swatting me on my backside. “I like the leather pants. And she will too. Very hot, boy. I think I’m going to like the part later tonight when I help you get out of your clothes. So many things I can do with a tie.”

  An hour after my fashion-meltdown, I’m trying to play it cool. Really cool. But with Bianca sitting so close I may just go insane. I admit, I’m jealous of the time she has with Adrian, the time she takes Adrian away from me, but greater still is my attraction…to her. She sits there, laughing and talking, oblivious to me, and I’m unmindful to what she’s talking about because all I can think about is lifting her hair off her neck and kissing the soft skin hidden beneath.

  Adrian said he talked to her and that she said she’d think about it, that she needed time to digest it because a lot’s at stake. What’s at stake I ask, besides my sanity?

  Does she know what her perfume is doing to me?

  Killing me.

  I haven’t felt this way since I was a teen. Then, I was so embarrassed. It seems like yesterday. My thoughts made me insane. I remember sitting in the school bleachers for a pep rally, wondering how I’d ended up surrounded by cheerleaders. I mean, really…why were they sitting near me? Laughing, giggling, teasing me with their scent…perfume and pheromones. I dared glances of flesh I shouldn’t have been trying to see, peeks of softly swelling breasts, the pale skin of an inner thigh…

  How did I ever make passing grades? Graduate? I was brain dead for years. Every time a girl passed by, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe.

  I wondered then what would happen if I grabbed one of them and kissed them hard, kissed them well enough that they would forget forever the clumsy face sucking their football playing boyfriends offered?

  I couldn’t do it. They’d think I was a lesbian…and I wasn’t.

  It’s gotten worse with age.

  I hate labels. Heterosexual. Homosexual. Bisexual. Isn’t human enough? Male. Female. I’m okay with that too.

  I am a human female. No one needs to label me other than that. I don’t think that will be enough to satisfy Advocate magazine.

  I wonder now, what would Bianca do if I bent over and moved her hair to the side, just an inch, just barely, so that I could see the soft skin I’m fantasizing about kissing.

  I’m still embarrassed by my thoughts; I’ve never acted on them, though I think I’ve always had them. It has become easier to face them since I told Adrian. I need to experience a woman…I need Bianca’s experience to help me get through it. I need to answer the question I’ve avoided answering my entire life. The word lesbian terrifies me, but I don’t hate it as much as I hate the word dyke.

  Now or never…

  I can’t believe we are all sitting at Orgasms chatting it up, celebrating someone’s birthday. Who’s birthday? I don’t know. Staff perhaps, maybe I never knew whose birthday. It doesn’t matter. It only matters that right after I sat down next to Adrian at the long table, she came in and took the chair next to mine…not by Adrian…and there was a chair available next to him. Next to me.

  My heart thrums in my chest like a trapped hummingbird. I’m terrified she will deny me. I’m terrified she will accept me. I command myself, Say something! It’s now or never.

  What would I say? I’ve got nothing…and if I can’t start a conversation with her, how will I ever get naked with her? Or even semi-naked.

  I turn toward her. She is leaned halfway across the table, showing someone the screen on her digital camera, previewing pictures she just took. Her breasts jiggle beneath her sleeveless silk blouse, and my mouth goes dry. What am I thinking? Really. What?

  She sits back down and my bravery is lost.

  My heart slows until it is just a barely a thump in my chest.

  I am going to lose my mind.

  This was never supposed to be about me and Bianca…this was supposed to be about me and Adrian…a means to an end. So, why can’t I breathe around my need? Why my sudden attraction to Bianca? And is it Bianca, or is it just because it is someone other than Adrian?

  I’m beginning to think that after all of my years of denial, maybe I do need to seek professional medical help. Only a crazy person would get their sex life as seriously fucked up as I’ve gotten mine. Bloody hell.

  My time for worrying about Bianca ends as she stands and explains to someone she is sorry she has to rush off. Suddenly, others stand and depart. The party is over and I said nothing. Great. Just great.

  I’m so pissed off at myself, I go to my studio. Adrian doesn’t even ask if anything is wrong. I guess he knows me well enough by now to know when I need space.

  Losing myself in my painting is how I cope.

  ALL TOO SOON I AM FACING the dreaded Advocate’s magazine interview. Late Tuesday afternoon finds me sitting across from my interviewer in a posh, oceanfront restaurant in Malibu. I face my worst nightmare, Lexi Dade-Smith.

  She is a tough woman when it comes to fighting for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender rights. She’s made a name for herself, locally and nationally. She is going to see right through me. I can see the headlines: Poser Exposed.

  I can die now. Honestly, I can. The panic attack when I thought I might actually talk to Bianca was nothing compared to the apocalypse now destroying my mind. I sit, sipping water, because I already embarrassed myself by having to race to the nearest restroom to throw up. Isn’t that a wonderful way to start an interview?

  She assures me that it happens.

  That makes me feel so much better.

  I take a deep breath. She also said we would only start when I was comfortable enough to begin.

  “I don’t think I can do this.”

  Lexi smiles. “Have you eaten? Maybe we could order a late lunch-early dinner and just talk awhile, completely off the record, and then, after we eat, if you are comfortable, I’ll interview you.”

  I’d forgotten we were sitting at a table on the glass enclosed balcony of Moonshadows, overlooking the Pacific, actually overlooking crashing waves, moss covered rocks, and a gorgeous sun-bright day that should attribute to calm; I’m anything but. Thankfully, since it’s a weekday, the on
ly people dining are locals and a few beachgoers. The last time I was here was a Saturday night and the atmosphere was completely insane.

  “Thanks for driving out. I absolutely love it here,” she says, looking up from her menu.

  I realize I’m holding mine open but don’t have a clue what it offers. I haven’t read the first word. I try harder to focus.

  “I should have asked, are you vegetarian? They have a few entrees, but really their specialty is seafood.”

  I meet her gaze for the first time since sitting down. I think to myself, she’s trying so hard, and I’m totally blowing it. I force a smile. “I love seafood…and no, not a vegetarian. Are you?”

  “Once,” she whispers like it is a secret, admitting, “I’m a failure. I grew up in the Midwest, get me around a smoking grill and the scent of rare steak, I’m a goner.”

  I laugh, nodding. “I lasted about three years. My downfall was actually sushi.”

  “You should do that more often,” she says. “You have a beautiful smile.”

  Her comment makes me blush, but then she is quickly agreeing that she adores sushi and starts naming all of the best sushi restaurants from San Diego up the coast to Seattle.

  “We should venture out for sushi some evening.”

  “That would be great,” I agree without thinking too much, and I wonder if I should have thought about it, maybe bowed out somehow, but then the waiter is tableside to take our order. We both order oysters, though she orders hers on the half-shell and I ordered mine fried.

  “Great minds,” she says laughing, once the waiter walks away.

  “Think alike?” I add.

  “I watched your first episode slated for FitTV,” she tells me. “I fought really hard to get this interview. Everyone wanted you, but not as much as I did.”

  I blush and look away, because the way she said ‘not as much as I did’ sent shivers down my spine.

  “I’ve been pretty bummed and the opportunity to talk to you sent my mood through the roof. Do you realize how empowering you are to women?”

  She blindsides me with that.

  “I mean, I admit, I watched that FitTV episode and was blown away by your one-liners. You say things as a quirky joke, but the wisdom behind your words…” She chokes up, and I am left not really knowing what to say or do. “I was with Jewels for seven years, and I never felt loved or appreciated. What you said—”

  I think back to the episode that was recorded weeks ago, trying to remember what I said. Oh, shit. I don’t remember. I don’t have a clue.

  “—made me realize that even though I look like I have it all together, I was allowing Jewel to define who I was. Her girlfriend.”

  Jewel? Jewel, the actress? I remember now…what a detail to forget…why didn’t I realize before? I close my eyes, remembering their walk down the red carpet of the Grammy’s last year. They were a stunning couple.

  Lexi is still talking, “And I thought, no, that’s not all that I am, my life, my impact on the community does not end just because our relationship ended. That’s what your message did for me. I didn’t love myself for my own value. I see that now, and I’ve really started appreciating who I am and what I’m giving back to the world.”

  She squeezes my hand, placing a second hand on my forearm. I can tell by the way her fingers trace my brachioradialis, she wants to ask about my muscles. I flex my forearm, making her jaw drop.

  “Wow. You must work out twenty-four seven.”

  I laugh. “No, not nearly.”

  “Your girlfriend is a lucky woman to have you.”

  I look away. This is the dreaded moment. This is the interview killer. I didn’t mean to misrepresent myself in any way, the network was just so insistent that I give this interview, now what? I look back at her and realize she is looking at me expectantly.

  Our waiter brings the oysters and thankfully, the spectacular plating steals the show long enough to give me a chance to think. One of the advantages of coming to a nice restaurant…

  After first tastes and shared tastes, she tasting mine and my tasting hers, I know I can’t avoid this moment any longer. “I don’t have a girlfriend at the moment.”

  Her eyes widen, and she sits a little straighter.

  Oh, shit. Did I just encourage her? Does she think I’m flirting?

  “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment,” she volunteers just before slurping an oyster out of its shell. “Today is probably the best day I’ve had in a while.”

  I glance sideways. She smiles a little wider.

  She makes a face. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She shakes her head, looking even more stricken. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to do the official interview with me.”

  I take her hand. “Stop, Lexi. You’re fine. You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It’s just—I’m in a relationship with a man—his name is Adrian.” Her eyebrows go up and she looks mildly disappointed. I quickly add, “We have an open relationship, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the right lady will come along soon.”

  Why did I say that? I sounded retarded!

  Oh God, why am I here?

  “So, you’re bisexual?”

  My mouth opens and closes…twice. I finally admit, “Our relationship isn’t a typical male-female one and honestly, I have no idea what I am. I don’t think they’ve invented a label for me.”

  She smiles. “I’m intrigued.”

  What could have been an uncomfortable moment slides into nothingness as she keeps the not-interviewing-yet conversation going hours past our very late lunch which turns into drinks and when it is time to walk out to our cars, I find I really don’t want the day to end.

  The sun is setting as I walk her to her Prius and after unlocking her door, she turns and hugs me. “Thank you.”

  I hug her back, stunned. Stepping back, her words and what she meant is obvious, she’s absolutely glowing with power. I smile. “Some of us never doubted your impact on the community. Don’t ever let anyone steal your value.”

  Lexi asks, “Hey, do you want to walk down the beach before we call this one a wrap?”

  “I’d love that.”

  We walk until we reach a rocky section that makes it too unsafe to continue. We end up sitting in the sand to watch the sunset.

  Conversation stalls and without thinking, I ask, “You still miss Jewel?”

  “Yes.” She leans closer, bumping my shoulder. “But I’m moving on.”

  She stays leaning against me, against my shoulder, her body warm and soft…and right. I wrap my arm around her. “Do you know what an amazing woman you are? You were too good for her anyway.”

  I think of all the tabloid rumors. Funny how when you remember one detail a dozen more file in…Jewel’s wild parties, her affair with her manager, her affair with the Brazilian actress that was the straw, I assume, that broke the camel’s back.

  “I agree,” she whispers, but I can tell she’s crying.

  Please don’t cry. Oh, this is horrible. How did I make you cry? I lift my hand to her face, turning her so that I can see into her eyes, and in the violet shadows of twilight, I kiss her. Not thinking, because thought isn’t necessary. Not over analyzing because this doesn’t need analyzing at all. She needs someone to kiss her, someone to remind her how wonderful…beautiful, sexy, intelligent, witty…she is; I want to be that someone.

  I kiss her tears off her cheeks before finding her mouth more than willing to be kissed.

  The sun drops below the horizon as I push her back into the sand. It’s the most natural thing in the world to follow her down.

  Looking into her eyes, I am struck by how wonderfully right it feels to be kissing her. The beach is deserted, but even if it wasn’t I don’t know that I would stop. I ask, “Is this all right?” as I start to push up her top.

  She nods and I kiss her again, sliding my hand under her shirt. Her skin is silk. I tease over her ribcage, fingers moving higher. My hand is cupping her breast
through her bra before I have an intelligent thought. I push away the voice in my head that tells me I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I’ve waited a decade to do this, maybe two decades.

  I tweak her nipples through the cloth, they are already hard buds. I tweak a little harder, and she moans.

  “Push my bra up.”

  She doesn’t have to ask twice. I push my fingers under the stiff under-wires and lift, pushing up and over, seeing in the shadows the full, round globes of her breasts as they spill out of the fabric. I move over her, straddling her hips, and squeeze both her breasts. They feel marvelous in my hands, like they’ve belonged there all along. I lean down, kissing her slowly, a gentle tease, lips and tongue, while I squeeze and pull her breasts.

  I go back to her nipples, pinching, pulling until I get a response. Pinching harder when she moans. “Did you like that?” I whisper.

  “Oh God, yes.”

  “Too hard? Am I hurting you?”

  “I want it harder, pinch them harder.” I comply, and she gasps. I stop pinching, but she demands, “Please don’t stop. I like a little pain.”

  I may have died and gone to heaven.

  Adrian lets me pinch him, sometimes bite him, but he always stops me when I get too aggressive. I hope Lexi doesn’t mind.

  I pull away from her mouth, dropping my head to suck one of her nipples into my mouth. I suck hard, I bite, pulling with my teeth. She moans, but she doesn’t stop me. Her hips buck under me.

  I take her other nipple in my mouth, sucking, biting, pulling. The more I do, the more I want to do to her. I press her breasts together, taking both nipples into my mouth at the same time, sucking them hard. I squeeze her breasts, hard, making her gasp and moan.

  I decide I need to stop. I could eat her alive, and we are on a public beach.

  “Please don’t stop. I need you, I need this.”

  “Not here,” I say roughly, her words shooting through me, making me crazed enough to strip her bare right here but trying to stay clearheaded enough to not do that.

  “Yes. Here.” She sits up, grabs my face, and kisses me, stealing all of my reason, all thought. She pulls her lips away from my mouth only long enough to tug her shirt over her head and unsnap her bra before tossing both aside.