by Terry Brewer
“What?”
“I love you.” Neither had said it before. “I love you and I want to marry you.”
Angela got up, said, “let me get this off,” and after grabbing a T-shirt was gone. For Nicole, this was the most frightening moment of her life and she feared it was the worst decision of her life. She meant it but she had not meant to say it.
When Angela was above her, her eyes burning with lust and, she thought, love, and she not yet in the throes of passion but in the throes of something even more important than mere passion, Nicole knew in that instant that she needed this woman to be with her for the rest of her life. And it was said. Nicole was not sure that she said it, but it was said and she did not regret it being said. Except for the fact that she did not know whether Angela was ready to hear it and now she feared that Angela was not and that Angela now never would be and Nicole wept, raising her right hand over her closed, tearing eyes and asking herself “what have I done?”
Angela did not hear Nicole’s crying. She was staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. She loved Nicole. She knew that. It crept up on her but it was well encased now. As the various scenarios ran through her head while she stared into her own eyes, that Nicole would love her was not among them. All she hoped for was that Nicole would fuck her and that Nicole would let herself be fucked by Angela between the other “things” Nicole did. Her brain had yet to catch on to the reality that Nicole was not doing other “things” with other women anymore. She was always with Angela.
Angela wondered what was going on and then why Nicole had not come out of her bedroom and she turned off the light in the bathroom and as she left she heard them. The tears. She rushed into the bedroom and saw Nicole was a blubbering mess. She knelt by the bed and reached to her lover.
“Ange, forget what I said—I was being silly—I was carried away—you know you have that effect on me—let’s just get some sleep—please stay tonight—we have to get up—” It was a torrent of words, hardly sentences, that Angela stopped by grabbing her life and pulling her close.
“Nicki. Stop. I love you. Please stop.”
That middle bit stopped Nicole. “Did you say you love me?”
“I said it and I mean it. We need to talk. Meet me in the living room.” And with that Angela left the room.
Nicole grabbed a T-shirt for herself and followed. They sat on the sofa.
“Talk to me.”
Nicole explained how much she had changed and been changed since meeting Angela. How she had given up “having an NYU law student between my legs or being between the legs of a Scarsdale pediatrician.”
She recaptured her breath. “Look, I know we began as mutual fuck-toys, but we both know you changed me. Have you not noticed how I never seem to have a date on Saturday nights and find myself ‘stuck’ hanging out with you? I tried, I really tried for this not to happen, okay. Ange, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You and no one else. You.”
It was sudden, shocking even, but Angela knew what she knew. She paused. “Do you have a ring?”
“What?”
“When a woman proposes to a woman she ought to have a ring. Capisce?”
“Are you serious? Shit, we were in bed when I decided to ask.”
“They say you can get anything delivered in New York 24/7. What about a ring?”
Angela felt a little bad about the teasing and so ended it with “Yes, Nicole Lynn, I will marry you and I’ll give you a few days to get your fiancée a ring. But, Nicole Lynn, will you marry me?”
“Well,” she laughed, “only if you promise to get me a ring.”
And with that, they kissed and Nicole Lynn said, “Angela Marie, you, and only you.”
Twelve Hours Later
It was Paula calling. “Where are you?”
It was Angela answering. “Fuck. Sorry P. We lost track of time.” She paused and looked at Nicole and, receiving a nod, said, “Can you come over to Nicole’s in about twenty?” and receiving an “I’ll be there” Angela asked Nicole whether she was ready.
And they were ready. Nervous but ready when Paula came by and after offering her a fresh coffee and sitting her down on the sofa was told that Nicole and Angela were getting married.
Paula felt bad about it, but her unspoken first-thought was that Nicole was kind of a slut and this did not seem to be a very good idea for Angela. I mean, Angela was no virgin, but still—
Nicole read this. She got up and sat next to Paula.
“I know you think I’m a slut and—don’t deny it, it’s true—and I really was. Angela turned me. You know how I loved turning straights”—and Paula nodded and Angela shook her head thinking don’t-go-there—”well she fucking turned me. She is the only woman I’ve let take me to a place I do not want to leave.
“I promised her and I promise you that I will be true and I will be faithful.”
Paula looked across at Angela: “Do you believe her? Do you trust her? You almost completely went off the deep end with Billy and what a mistake that would have been. Are you sure you want to go off the deep end with Nicole?” who was holding her breath next to Paula.
“I love her. I trust her. I am hers. Forever.”
And with that, they hugged, finished their coffees, and went to see Sherrie and Tracy. Sherrie said, “the hell with coffee” and she was pouring champagne for everyone until Angela said after swearing everyone to secrecy, “we have to go. We have some business to attend to” and with more hugs the three visitors were heading to Jackson Heights to pick up Angela’s car for a trip to Fairfield County.
When Angela’s mother answered the door, she brightened at seeing her daughter and Paula and asked who the third woman was. Angela said simply, “this is Nicole…Mom, I…we need to speak to you and dad.”
“He’s out back,” and her mother called him to come see Angela and Paula and a friend of theirs. While they waited, she asked Paula about her folks and her brother, saying she hadn’t seen them since the wedding in Darien and, referring to the break-up, added, “I still don’t understand that” and that she liked Billy and she was going along this line when her husband appeared, wiping his hands and after hugging Angela and saying hello to Paula and to the woman he was introduced to as Nicole sat in a chair facing the sofa, where the three visitors, Angela in the middle, were.
“Mom. Dad. Nicole is my fiancée.”
It was as if a stun-gun was directed at the two parents. If either moved, it was imperceptible. Angela said it again and the spell was broken as to her mother. As to her father, he may have started breathing again but was otherwise static.
“This is a joke, right? You were nearly engaged to Billy. Angela, what are you talking about?” and Angela explained what she was talking about, how she long thought she liked boys, “and I thought I loved Billy,” but she slowly realized that she liked girls and she slowly “but surely” realized that she loved Nicole.
Her mother got up and headed to the kitchen “to get something.” She stopped and turned, her eyes burning into Paula. “Are you alright with this? She was about to marry your brother. Do you think this is okay?”
Paula waited a beat. She squeezed Angela’s hand, which she had gripped since the three sat down, as Nicole was holding her other hand. “Mrs. Johnson. Mr. Johnson. I think it’s wonderful.” Mrs. Johnson recoiled. “And I should tell you,” Paula continued, “I’m a lesbian too.”
Paula looked at Mrs. Johnson and said, “Please do not tell my parents. We’re heading there shortly. It’s something I have to do.”
Mrs. Johnson walked out of the room with a “go, do you think I’m going to tell this to anyone?” Mr. Johnson got up and walked to his daughter and he hugged her. He whispered, “Just tell me she’s rich” and Angela cried and Nicole cried and Paula cried and Mr. Johnson gave his daughter a tighter squeeze and Nicole an even tighter one and then told the group, “she’s just surprised. She loves you, and you too Paula. She’ll come around. Just give her some time”
and with a final hug of his daughter, the three visitors were gone, now heading a few miles north to the house in which Paula grew up.
If one wants to know what happened when they got there, just re-visit what happened at the Johnson house, except for the part about the daughter-is-engaged. The mother disappeared, weeping, and the father stuck by his daughter with assurances that it would work out. Paula’s father, though, asked whether she had told Billy. Because they knew word would get to him quickly, Paula said she would call him. When she did, he did not take either bit of news—Angela’s engagement or her own gayness—well, the phrases “fucking dykes” and “I knew it” being heard. She ended, “Angela and I wanted you to hear it from us.” She hung up.
The three then headed into Darien and walked along the Post Road. The two locals had not been there in a while, fearing running into an acquaintance and being asked uncomfortable questions but now neither cared and neither would be uncomfortable here or anywhere and after a quick lunch—they hadn’t eaten since grabbing quick bagels at Sherrie and Tracy’s Loft—were heading south on I-95 with Paula in the backseat.
Part 2: Paula & Connie
October: Outside Ethel’s
On a Saturday night in early October, at about nine, twenty-three-year-old Connie Dyson stood outside Ethel’s, near the street. A stranger walked up to her, introducing herself as “Michelle” and waving to a friend who went into the bar without her.
“You remind me of someone.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You remind me of someone. Me. First time?”
“That obvious?”
“Let’s take a walk. Don’t worry, I am not hitting on you. You’re cute but not my type,” and she gave an exaggerated wink. The pair headed west and turned up Hudson Street. Michelle put her arm through Connie’s. She told her story of coming to New York from upstate two years earlier and through the internet hearing of Ethel’s. She stood pretty much where Connie was before someone recognized her for what-she-was and took her on this same little walk. “It meant so much to me, and when I see the old-me standing there like you were I do the same.”
To this perfect stranger, Connie came out for the first time. When they had circled back to Ethel’s and she told this fact to Michelle she received a smile and was told: “You’re about to come out to a lot more people but they’re all family.” With that they entered the bar together, arm-in-arm.
Michelle made a point of introducing Connie to everyone she said hello to. For the first time in her life, Connie did not feel that she was stranded on an island. She even danced with two or three. She neither was nor was not pretty. Very fair skin. A narrow face split by a narrow nose above a small mouth. Her profile was that of a small bird. Her hair was brown and she wore it pulled straight back over her skull. It draped three or four inches below her shoulders, highlighting her small ears and the two studs—one low, one high—she wore in each of them. Five-five and with a small figure, black leggings, a white blouse, and flats.
Two things stood out. She had a two-inch scar diagonally on her right cheek. It added depth to her face. And her eyes. Her eyes made all the difference and made her something other than and far more than pretty. Azure eyes.
Her sleep after that night at Ethel’s and after replaying it again-and-again on the long ride on the subway to her walk-up apartment in far-from-fashionable Bay Ridge, Brooklyn was the most peaceful of her life.
On the next Saturday night, Connie sat briefly with Michelle and met more of Michelle’s friends before mustering the nerve to approach a woman standing alone at the bar. They chatted briefly but only chatted and the woman parted with a “see you around.” While Connie felt alone, she was pleased for having approached a woman she did not know. And for having survived. Michelle, who observed this, got up to bring Connie back to her table and they laughed about it.
The next Saturday, Michelle asked Connie if she’d like to go to a party the next day at Sherrie and Tracy’s loft. Michelle knew the couple well enough to be asked with some friends. She knew it would be okay to bring Connie along and she thought it would do the newbie some good, a chance to mingle in a more relaxed environment.
One Day Later: A Party
Sherrie and Tracy’s loft was large. One of them came from money but no one ever knew which. They met at Smith, were together as Sophomores, and became inseparable as Juniors. They were now twenty-five and each worked for a non-profit. On a Sunday in early October, they held a party. The attendees were a mix of people from school, from jobs, from the neighborhood, and especially from Ethel’s.
As usual, Paula stayed close to Angela. By this point, as noted, Paula’s feelings for Angela were changed. A love left untended from afar while Angela was with her brother was briefly inflamed. It had settled into the glowing comfort of sisterhood. But a stranger looking at the two would think they were lovers—looking nothing like sisters, displaying all the signs of physical closeness and natural comfort—and a stranger would hesitate before approaching.
Connie was such a stranger. As it happens, neither Angela nor Paula had been at Ethel’s on either of the Saturdays when Connie was there. So she had no idea who they were. She sensed something about the older of the two, Paula. Connie asked Tracy when she said hello “what’s the story with those two?”, a nod towards Angela and Paula. Tracy said, “It’s a little complicated, but for now all I’ll say is that we love them both and they are like long-lost sisters so feel free to say hello.”
Connie touched Tracy’s hand and with a thanks got a Chardonnay. She circled the room before mustering the courage to approach the pair with a “Hi, Tracy tells me you’re like sisters. I’m Connie.” Said in a single breath.
Angela and Paula introduced themselves. When Connie said that Tracy said something about it being “complicated,” Angela responded with a “She did, did she?” She gave the elevator-pitch version of their story, making it clear that they were both gay (or at least bi- in her case) and wondering why they hadn’t come across each other at Ethel’s.
Just then, Sherrie tapped her glass and once she had everyone’s attention Tracy began a little speech.
“Thank you all for coming. We had an ulterior motive in asking you here today, although we’re sure it won’t surprise anyone. One of us—I won’t say who—asked the other whether she might want to get married and receiving a yes the first of us—again not saying who—asked and…I’m sorry. I’ve been rehearsing this and someone—not saying who—bet I wouldn’t get it right and this someone won the bet and, well, I’m pleased to let everyone know that Sherrie and I are getting married sometime in the new year” and a handsome older black-couple were next to them and rings that could be seen-from-the-Moon were on their fingers and Nicole, standing near raised her glass to the “happy couple finally” and everyone joined and rushed to congratulate them.
In the melee, Connie lost sight of Angela and, especially, Paula. She left.
She still felt something. She was so inexperienced that she had no idea what that “something” was other than that she felt it. Paula was lost in the crowd at the loft, after the toast. For some reason, Connie did not search for her but panicked and fled. She thought a lot about Paula on the long, subway ride home. And it ate at her. Monday. Sitting at her desk at the insurance company. Tuesday. During downward dog at the yoga studio. Wednesday. Getting take-out at the Vietnamese restaurant on the corner. She found her thoughts drifting to Paula and her mouth whispering her name as she used her fingers or her vibrator to get herself off each night.
On Thursday she got Tracy’s number from Michelle. On Friday she called Tracy’s number and when Sherrie answered she asked upon realizing who Connie was, “where did you go?” And somehow she managed to draw Connie into telling her story and how she had come out to Michelle and how there was that “something” about Paula but how she panicked.
“Are you going to Ethel’s tomorrow?” and getting a “yes” Sherrie promised that Paula would be there.
&nbs
p; Connie almost sank into the floor when Sherrie came over to her as she entered the bar on Saturday and hugged her, whispering, “we’re all idiots sometimes” and leading her to the table where Tracy, Angela, and Paula sat, and Connie and Paula wanted to sink into the floor when Angela and Tracy got up, Tracy shouting above the music, “you two be good now” as they did. Paula then understood why Angela vetoed the first two outfits she tried on before signing off on a red collared shirt, tailored slacks, and two-inch heels, a combination that caused Connie to forget how to speak.
There was, indeed, “something” in Paula for Connie and “something” in Connie for Paula. During that awkward second meeting at Ethel’s, they fell into a conversation punctuated periodically by increasing intimate touching. Fingers. Wrists. Shoulders. A stray-hair moved behind Paula’s ear. A tiny bit of cheese lifted from Connie’s lips. Paula was six or seven years older than Connie but it did not matter. When Paula got up the courage to ask Connie to dance, their arms were wrapped around each other for the first time, neither woman leading and neither woman following.
Connie convinced Paula to drive out to Bay Ridge the next day and they went to Coney Island together and walked along the boardwalk. It was Paula’s first visit to the landmark. She was underwhelmed. But that was okay because it was the company that mattered. The two walked, Paula’s arm about the younger woman’s waist.
Paula had felt this comfortable only once before, with the SUNY prof. That might have progressed if she hadn’t moved to Georgia for work. They, too, spent time just being with one another. When Connie called her on Monday night, she was shocked that it was after ten when they hung up. They did not speak about anything and it was after ten when they hung up. Paula found her day empty until Connie called and then she could not wait for Saturday when they would see each other again.
Connie had zero experience with this. She often wondered what it would be like to be with a girl, maybe even to have a girlfriend. Now that she was with a girl, all she could do was let what would happen happen. She wondered why she had taken so long. She was a shy woman and had been a shy girl. Even before she was shoved off her bike when she was twelve and got the gash across her face. Everyone laughed when it happened. From that point on, all through high school, she was “Scarface.” Even the girls she fantasized about called her that. Not teasingly. She was shy, gay, and disfigured.