They sat in silence for a moment, sipping wine. Taylor saved them by asking if Brooklyn fished. In Minnesota, a lot of people fished as a hobby. It was a great conversation starter—better than Cindy’s use of a shoe. However, it was the shoe that got Brooklyn sitting on her balcony drinking wine. God bless Nike.
“I love to fish. I used to go on the launches back when,” Brooklyn said.
Jenna figured the “when” was when Brooklyn had a girlfriend. That was the problem with girlfriends—a lot of the well-loved activities got left behind because either they reminded you of your lost love or the people you did them with were her friends.
“Then we’ll have to go fishing,” Taylor said. “Those two,” she pointed an accusing finger at Dale and Jenna, “don’t fish.”
“Taylor is always looking for a fishing buddy,” Dale said.
Jenna wasn’t certain if she should panic about Brooklyn joining their circle or do a happy dance. If Brooklyn became Taylor’s new fishing buddy things might get awkward. What if Brooklyn discovered that Jenna wasn’t her type? Could they be just friends? That was the problem with being a lesbian—all the boundaries. Was the woman a friend or a friend with benefits? Was hanging out with other women when you were in a relationship potentially dangerous because your friend was someone you could also sleep with—not like straight women who could have girlfriends without any sexual tension.
She was still considering all this lesbian philosophical stuff when Brooklyn waved a hand in front of her face.
“Earth calling Jenna,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jenna said.
“That happens a lot when I talk fishing,” Taylor said. “Both of them do that. Their eyes glaze over, and next thing you know, they’ve turned into narcoleptics.”
“We do not,” Dale said.
“Okay, what kind of fishing lures were Brooklyn and I talking about?” Taylor asked.
Dale looked over at Jenna who didn’t have a clue. “It was a wanna-catch-a-lot-of-fish special,” Dale said.
Taylor laughed. “Nice try.”
“Say, I meant to ask you all, your clients included, to my birthday bash. And before you ask, I’m not telling you how old I am, which means you’ll have to attend if you want to find out. And if that’s not enough of an enticement, some of the food will be outstanding. One of my roommates owns her own catering company,” Brooklyn said.
“Do you really want our clients to come? After today?” Jenna asked. “Trouble seems to follow them everywhere.”
“Are any of them pyromaniacs? Brooklyn asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jenna said. She looked over at Dale. “You’re my business partner, what do you think? Is it safe to go?”
Dale bit her lip. “I don’t see why not. As long as she has homeowner’s insurance.”
“You guys are complete cynics. So you had a few oddball accidents. It’s a potluck, what could go wrong?” Taylor asked.
Dale and Jenna looked at her pointedly.
“I’ll check on the homeowner’s insurance,” Brooklyn said wisely.
Chapter Ten
On the day of Brooklyn’s birthday potluck, Jenna and Dale had called a pre-meeting with their clients. They wanted to avoid another disaster at all costs. Jenna paced her office floor. “Okay, how can we make this work?”
“By work, do you mean not destroy anything at the potluck?” Dale asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid of our clients’ capacity to wreak havoc and I don’t think I’m being paranoid here,” Jenna said.
“I think you might be just a teensy bit pessimistic,” Dale said, putting her index finger and thumb together with a quarter inch gap in between.
“Really?” Jenna said. She raised one eyebrow.
“All right, you may have a point. But every activity can’t go wrong. Besides this potluck is prime hunting ground for finding dates. I bet it’s a big party, which means lots of potential single women.”
“Unless everyone’s a couple,” Jenna said. “Or a player, or philanderer, or emotionally unavailable, has abandonment issues, is a control freak…” She stopped pacing and slunk down into her office chair. She was depressing herself.
“Stop already,” Dale said.
“It could happen.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, this is our business. To be successful, we’ve got to be positive.”
“Okay, Tony Robbins,” Jenna said.
“Why are you in such a foul mood?”
“I stubbed my toe on Lee’s case of wine.”
“Tell me you didn’t leave it sitting in the middle of the floor,” Dale said. She turned the coffee maker on in preparation of the meeting.
“It’s heavy.”
“You couldn’t take the wine bottles out one at a time?”
Jenna didn’t look at her. She lined up the paper clip holder and stapler on her desk.
“Let me guess, you’re tormenting yourself,” Dale said.
Jenna didn’t answer. They both knew she was. She lined up the pencils and pens.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Dale asked. “You’ve gone through all the stages of loss. It’s time to move on. And what about Brooklyn? You think she’s hot and she’s nice. She’s well grounded, has a job and a car, probably even a 401k. And she likes you. It looks like a win-win to me.”
“It might have something to do with getting dumped out of the blue. I think I may have abandonment issues.”
“It could’ve been worse and even more embarrassing had Lee stayed in town. I was reading online that some dumpees hide their girlfriend’s car keys and hang onto their leg while the dumper tries to get out the door. Just think how embarrassing it would’ve been seeing Lee at a potluck after that. I’m thinking the clean break and subsequent disappearance was a good thing.”
“People really do that? Hang on to their leg?”
“According to what I read.”
“Speaking of which,” Jenna said, changing the subject, “did you find some dating tips online?”
“I sure did.” Dale handed her a file folder. “I made copies for our clients. They can use them for a study guide.”
“Seriously?” Jenna asked.
Dale gave her the “reprimanding” look usually reserved for Taylor as she handed over the file folder.
“All right, Tony Robbins. I’ll give them a look. And you’re right, as a dating coordinator I do need to more positive.” Jenna opened the folder and perused the dating tips which Dale had titled Dating 1.0. “Great title, by the way.”
“I thought so.” Dale smiled smugly.
Jenna perused the paper. She made a lot of “hmm” noises, scoffed once or twice, and laughed four times. “This is good. I just hope the examples here don’t give our clients any bad ideas.”
“That’s why I separated the good ideas from the bad ideas.”
There was a knock on the office door. Jenna slapped the folder shut and looked at her watch. “Show time,” she said.
Dale looked at her. Jenna put on her best smile—the fake one.
In return, Dale put on her best smile—the genuine one—and opened the door. It was Liz-Melody who, for once, looked more like Melody than Liz. In fact, she looked normal. Incredibly normal.
“Wow. You look like... you. What happened to Liz Taylor?” Jenna asked. She needed coffee pronto. She felt like Bette Davis in that movie where she says something about putting on a seatbelt because it was going to be a bumpy ride. Coffee was Jenna’s seatbelt.
Dale froze holding the coffee decanter in midair, staring unblinking at Liz-Melody. She was obviously struck dumb. Jenna took the decanter from her and poured a cup for herself.
“What’s wrong with her?” Liz-Melody asked.
“Oh, nothing. You look really nice,” Jenna said. Liz-Melody wore a black linen blazer, a simple white blouse, jeans and stylish chunky-heeled shoes. She looked like a well-dressed, had-it-all-together lesbian. And she was pretty, too. Jenna had never gotten past the weird E
lizabeth Taylor outfits to notice that she was actually pretty.
Dale snapped out of her catatonia and smiled.
Liz-Melody sat and slipped off her shoes. “I’m sorry, but these new shoes are killing my feet. I think I need thicker socks and maybe some Dr. Scholl’s.”
“Well, they look great and that’s what counts,” Jenna said, taking a chair next to her. Dale did the same.
There was a long moment of silence as Jenna and Dale tried not to stare at Liz-Melody.
“Okay, why don’t we cut the crap? I’m not dressed up as Elizabeth Taylor and you two are discombobulated.”
Jenna picked up and shuffled the file folder of papers that Dale had put on the table next to the coffee tray. “Really? I hadn’t noticed. But now that you mention it...”
“You’re a horrible liar,” Liz-Melody said.
“Sorry. You’re right,” Jenna said. She looked up at her. If this new Liz-Melody stuck around, they’d have to leave off the Liz part of Liz-Melody.
“Okay, your new look is refreshing, and I think you stand a lot better chance of finding your life partner when you look like you and not like a dead movie star. There I said it,” Jenna said.
Melody-not-Liz looked to Dale for a second opinion.
Dale nodded. “It’s true. This look is much better.”
“That’s exactly what I’m aiming for,” Melody-not-Liz said.
“Well, you achieved it,” Dale said. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Melody-not-Liz said.
“So, what changed your mind about your Elizabeth Taylor look?” Jenna asked.
“I took a long soul-searching look at myself and decided it was time for Liz to go,” she said, putting two packets of Splenda and cream in her coffee. “I even donated all my movies to the local women’s shelter. I thought they could use the entertainment.”
“That was so nice of you,” Dale said.
“I figured that Liz has a lot of class and might help those poor battered women with their self esteem. I took out the Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. I didn’t think it was appropriate.”
“Good call,” Jenna said. “Say, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“You want to know why I took up dressing like Elizabeth Taylor in the first place?”
“Do you mind telling us?” Jenna asked.
Melody-not-Liz sipped her coffee and set it back down. “It started with my mother,” she began.
Oh, no, Jenna thought. Did everything always start with mothers? It hardly seemed fair. Her mother was sane. She accepted Jenna’s sexual orientation and was nice to Lee while they were together. And come to find out her mother did not like Lee, but she had never said a word until Lee dumped Jenna. Then the vitriol began. It gave Jenna much satisfaction hearing it.
“My mother hated Elizabeth Taylor. I mean hated, not just the I-could-take-her-or-leave-her kind of dislike. I mean hated. You see…” Melody-not-Liz stopped and took another small sip of coffee. “My father left my mother for a woman who looked liked Elizabeth Taylor. Not in a slight resemblance either. Kate Manning looked exactly like Elizabeth Taylor. People would stop her on the street and ask for her autograph. She was the love of my father’s life. It wrecked my mother. She was a cold, bitter, disappointed woman. Even I preferred Kate. I adored her. She was funny and kind and loving toward me. She was the mother I always wanted.” Melody-not-Liz sniffled.
Jenna could see where this was going and it didn’t look good. She got up and pulled a tissue from the box she kept on top of the filing cabinet and handed it to Melody-not-Liz.
“Thank you.” Melody-not-Liz dabbed at her wet eyes.
“You don’t have to go on if it’s too painful,” Dale said.
“No, I’ve got to get it out.” She blew her nose.
“Okay,” Dale said. She reached over and patted Melody-not-Liz’s arm.
“My mother knew how much I loved Kate. So she concocted this horrible story about my father—how he abused her—and she got the judge to deny custody to my father. I wasn’t allowed to see my father or Kate ever again. That’s when I started my Liz campaign. I did everything Liz I could find—bought movies, used phrases from her movies, and the minute I turned eighteen, I dressed like her every time I went home.”
“Do you still speak to your mother?” Jenna asked.
“Oh, I do better than that. I go to Sunday dinner every week.”
“But this Sunday, you’re going to dress as yourself?” Dale asked.
“Oh, hell no. I’m still going to dinner in my Elizabeth Taylor regalia. That hasn’t changed. Besides I couldn’t part with all my Liz clothes. But I do have one request for you all.”
“Okay,” Jenna said. She hoped it wasn’t something too weird. She’d like to be able to grant Melody-not-Liz one request like she was her fairy godmother.
“You both have to stop calling me Liz-Melody. From now on, I’m just plain old Melody.”
Jenna and Dale looked guilty. How did she know about that? Jenna thought they’d been discreet. They’d better watch themselves in the future. Rather than deny it, Jenna said, “That won’t be a problem, Melody.”
“Good.” Melody stood and stretched. “I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I want to thank you, ladies, for making that happen.”
It could’ve gotten all mushy—which Jenna tried to avoid at all costs— but at that moment there was a knock on the door. Agnes, dressed in a gray cashmere sweater and gray slacks, came in with Cindy. Cindy’s pant’s pockets were not stuffed with her ever-present juggling balls. She still had her sippy cup, though. That needed to go, but at least she was ball-less.
They were making progress, Jenna thought. Baby steps.
“Hello,” Agnes said. She sat on the sofa next to Melody on the right and Cindy sat on her left. Agnes stared at Melody. So did Cindy. “You look nice, but…” Agnes evidently didn’t know where to go with this.
Melody saved her. “I’ve given up Liz and become myself.”
“That’s wonderful,” Cindy said. She clamped her hand over her mouth then said, “I didn’t mean to say that you made a bad Ms. Taylor, I just meant that you look nice dressed like a normal person.” Realizing her second faux pas, she clamped her hand over her mouth again. “I don’t mean you didn’t look normal before…
“I think you should stop talking,” Agnes said with a chuckle.
“You’re fine. I realize there will be a period of readjustment for other people. Thank you for your kind compliment,” Melody said.
Cindy removed her hand from her mouth and took a drink from her sippy cup.
Dale went to the coffee area and opened a cupboard. “Now that everyone is here, I can hand out the gifts. I picked up a small token of our appreciation for your patience and understanding in respect to our mishaps.” She brought over a shopping bag and set it on the coffee table.
“What on earth?” Jenna muttered, as Dale pulled out five thermal to-go cups. Each cup had the words “I drink, therefore, I am,” written across its front.
Melody squealed and said, “How cute!”
Agnes looked moved. “You got us a present?”
Cindy glanced down at her sippy cup. Dale patted her shoulder and said, “Think of this as your new sippy cup. The more adult version.”
Cindy’s face lit up. “Thank you!”
Jenna looked at Dale gratefully and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
Dale had solved the sippy cup problem by giving them all new cups so it didn’t single out Cindy.
“I got the cups because they’re a conversation starter for when we meet new people. Plus, they make us look like a team,” Dale said.
“I think this is a better idea than the shoe thing,” Jenna said.
“Speaking of which, how did your coffee date with Desmond go?” Dale asked, sitting.
Cindy shook her head and sighed. “Not that great.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jenna said
.
“That’s okay. I feel it’s my duty to warn other people who might go the shoe-as-conversation-starter route,” Cindy said. “It turns out she was more interested in my shoe than me. I should’ve suspected something when she was adamant about me bringing the shoe on our date. I didn’t get it. I was using the shoe to meet people and we’d already met, so why did I need to bring my shoe?”
“Good question,” Jenna said, urging her to continue.
“Turns out she was one of those shoe fetish people. Now, I want you all to know that I am completely fine with consenting adults doing whatever they please as long as they don’t harm anyone. I don’t want to offend, but I have no interest in S&M, which is not a judgment on those activities and desires. I just feel like, in order to have a relationship with another person, you have to have some common interests, like bird-watching or microbreweries.”
“Completely understandable,” Agnes said.
“Perfectly,” Jenna added.
“She completely ignored me. At dinner, she talked to my shoe. Played footsie under the table with it. She made me sit in the back seat of her car. My shoe sat in the passenger seat. She even kissed it goodnight. I ended up giving her the shoe.” Cindy shrugged. “I have another just like it at home.”
Nobody knew what to say.
Jenna clapped her hands. “Moving right along.” She handed out the copies of Dating 1.0. “These are some guidelines and helpful hints for successful dating.” Jenna cleared her throat and read: “Number One: Do not talk about your ex-girlfriend. If pressed, say ‘It didn’t work out.’ Remember less is more. Number Two: Show your fun side. Smile a lot. Look approachable. Number Three: Discover what her passions are. Does she enjoy reading? Listening to music, cooking, eating shellfish? Be a good listener. Number Four: If doing an outdoor activity, bring an extra sweater in case your date gets cold. It demonstrates that you are a considerate and caring person. Number Five: Do not engage anyone who already has a girlfriend even if they tell you they are in an open relationship. Number Six: If she doesn’t ask you, then ask her how you might contact her for a coffee date. Would she prefer to talk on the phone, or text, or Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram, or Snapchat?”
Piece of My Heart Page 11