by JD Glass
“Only in French,” I reminded her as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations. Just forget going home, my car was closer. “I can’t read minds in French.”
I twisted my head away and sought her mouth with mine, and tonight’s kiss tasted like cherries and bubble gum. As that kiss deepened, Candace’s fingertips moved from behind my neck to patter light touches from my neck to my chest. I brought my hands up to her face, brushing my lips right behind her jaw. We really had to leave.
The bathroom had started to get a bit crowded—either our little makeout session had drawn a crowd or it was merely that communal time. Whatever we were going to do, it couldn’t continue here. Most of the women either acted bored or impatient as they waited, and as I caught the eye of one or two, they blushed and looked away. I didn’t care, though, because unless this was their first visit to the club, I was definitely not the only woman who’d kissed another in that bathroom or any other place in the club. For some of the patrons, that was part of the attraction and definitely part of the club’s reputation.
Fuck the occasional total straights that came in there. They either came for the show, or they left soon enough. I did mention earlier that this was one of the coolest places to see and be seen, and that meant a lot of try-sexual activity. There, in the corner by the sink, was proof. Two girls I’d observed on the dance floor, with what I was pretty sure had been their boyfriends, were leaning together face-to-face, stroking each other’s hair, occasionally kissing each other’s cheek, trying to get up the courage to take it to that next step. I knew what that was like, I thought with a smile.
I glanced back at Candace, who’d noticed what I had. “Do you want to get going?” I grinned at her and indicated the girls in the corner with my chin.
She glanced their way, then back at me. “I thought we already had,” she murmured and caught my hand. “Yeah, let’s go,” she agreed decisively.
I led the way through the press to the door, and as we passed the girls by the sink, a sudden inspiration made me pause.
“Hey there,” I greeted each of them—first a very pretty girl with a deep tan and red and gold streaks in her dark hair, whose back was against the counter, then an equally stunning almond-eyed brunette, who looked slightly familiar to me from somewhere other than the club. Well, Staten Island really was a small place in many ways, after all. Maybe I’d seen her on the bus on the way to school or something over the years. “How you doing?”
To their credit, while they may have both blushed, they neither stopped holding hands nor changed positions. Why is that to their credit? Because it meant that they weren’t ashamed or embarrassed. Good for them. Maybe I’d have to reevaluate my estimation of ABC their male companions’ status as boyfriends.
“Okay,” answered the girl with the tan noncommittally, with a slight shrug. Her head bent closer to her companion’s shoulder.
“Fine, thanks,” answered the other. “You spin great tunes by the way, really love these Experience Nights.” She beamed shyly.
“Thank you,” I told her, honestly taken aback. I hadn’t thought I’d be recognized. Perhaps that was foolish. I mean, it’s not as if I was completely invisible up at the booth, and let’s face it—neither my hair nor my attire was nondescript, especially when I was working. And quite frankly, as long as I was still in the club, I was still on the job, especially since this was supposed to be one of “my” nights.
“Oh, you’re DJ Nina!” exclaimed the girl with the tan. I couldn’t help but smile as I noticed her arm steal around her companion’s waist. “You really play great music!”
“Thanks, thanks a lot, really.” I blushed a bit myself. “It’s very nice of you to say that.” From the corner of my eye, I could see Candace pull her phone out of the bag slung from her shoulder.
The brunette stuck a hand out. “Oh, I’m Gina, by the way,” she introduced, and I shook her hand, “and this is—”
“Mary,” the tan girl interrupted, putting out her free hand. “I’m Mary.”
“Nice to meet both of you,” I answered sincerely. “And right now, it’s just Nina, Nina Boyd,” I said as I shook her hand as well, “and this is,” and I turned to find her staring at me as she spoke into the phone, “Candace.”
She shook her head a moment, and instantly her expression changed. “Hullo, girls.” She waved, then directed her attention back to her phone. “Yes, on Bay Street, wonderful.” She closed her phone with a snap.
“We’ll have a car in ten minutes,” she announced with satisfaction. “Let’s go have a drink in the front while we wait?” She offered me her arm.
“Oh, okay.” I slipped my arm through hers. “Nice meeting you guys,” I said to Gina and Mary. “You have a great night.”
“You too,” and “Nice to meet you too, Nina,” they answered severally as we left.
“Oh, by the way?” I turned back and asked.
They now had their arms around each other and glanced up in inquiry.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I winked, and they laughed as ABC Candace and I left.
“Barbarian!” she jokingly scolded, lightly slapping my bicep.
“That’s ‘colonist’ to you.” I licked my teeth as we squeezed through the corridor to the front bar. “You called a car?” I asked. “So we’re going to, what was it, Port Mar See?” I exaggerated my bad pronunciation to see if I could get a rise out of her.
“Port Marseille,” she corrected, amused. “You aren’t going to let the ‘colonist’ thing go, are you?” she asked, rubbing the bicep she had just slapped as we walked through the hall arm in arm.
“Hmm…” I considered playfully. “You know what? ‘Colonist’ is such a novel thing to be called,” I said, smiling to take any possible sting out of my remark. “I mean, I’ve been called many things, but still…”
Stopping as we reached the front of the Cadillac bar a few feet from the door, I freed my arm from hers, put my hands on my hips, and faced her. “I think it’s going to take some time,” I told her in mock seriousness.
“Well, then,” she said coyly and brought her fingertips to the edge of my neckline while she played with my collar, “let me buy you a drink, and we can let the reparations begin.”
With my fingertips, I drew gentle lines down her cheeks, and her skin was so very smooth. “Oh, so now you’re trying to seduce me with your decadent European sophistication?” I asked. “Besides, you can’t.”
“Can’t what?” she asked in a throaty whisper, kissing my ear. “Seduce you?”
I closed my eyes and let her continue. “You can’t buy me a drink,” I murmured as she licked the hollow in my throat. “I work here—it’s one of the perks. So,” I asked as her ministrations continued, “what would you like?”
“You…” she said, nipping lightly on my neck, “on silk.” That sounded good to me too, and as her lips reached the hollow of my throat, a light growl escaped me. As I opened my eyes, I realized—the club, we were still in the club. We were supposed to be leaving, and I was supposed to be doing something. Oh, yeah! Drinks! I was getting those.
“I meant…what would you like to drink?” I finally sputtered. “Since you’re getting dinner, let me get you a drink.”
Candace trailed her fingertips up and down the column of my neck as she straightened. “You know,” she said, “that’s not a bad idea. Do you recommend anything specifically?”
“I do recommend you stay away from doing entire pitchers of Red Death,” I told her, ruefully twisting my lips as I remembered my recent occasion of overindulgence. Oh, but I did have an idea. “Would you mind if I surprise you?”
“Hmm, surprise away, then,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got good taste, if your clothes and your musical choice are any indication.” She waved at me.
“Great, I’ll be right back,” I said, and walked to the end of the bar.
“Hi, Dee Dee!” I called to the bartender, yet another stunning example of women the powers-that-be have plac
ed on this earth. A statuesque “five foot twelve” as she called it, Dee Dee had skin the color of coffee with cream, very curly blond hair, and startlingly hazel eyes that shaded from golden amber to an incredible light green, depending on her mood. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what I found most attractive about her—her eyes, her personality, or her drop-dead gorgeous accent. She was sexy all around.
Born in Bonn, Germany, of a Japanese-American father who’d been stationed there while in the army and the wife he’d brought there from Port-Au-Prince, Dee Dee, the living example of how beautiful human beings would be if we all just got along, had come to the United States not quite a year ago to finish her education and currently went to a local private college where she was getting a master’s degree in chemistry—which was probably why she was such a great bartender in the first place, sort of an extension of natural talent, I guess. Why she lived and worked on Staten Island was beyond me—she had the rest of the city to choose from, but I knew that I, for one, was glad she was there.
“Hallo, Nina!” Her eyes were on the cocktail she’d been mixing. “You’re well tonight?” she asked, tossing a little flurry of ice flakes on the concoction she’d just finished and passing it to the waiting customer.
“I am…wunderbar!” I answered, using the only German word—wonderful—that I knew. Well, there were a few others, like hamburger, achtung and mach schnell, but I don’t think any one of those would have been appropriate, especially since I’d learned them watching movies.
“Wunderbar, eh?” she asked, widening her eyes at me. “And is that the reason?” She pointed with her chin toward Candace, who was watching from a window for the awaited car.
I glanced down at the bar to hide the rising red in my cheeks. “Maybe.” I paused. “Can’t it just be a beautiful summer night?”
Dee Dee pursed her lips in what I recognized as amusement and picked up a glass. “Right. A beautiful night. Yet another for you, then?” she asked with a little smirk as she focused on polishing the glass.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told her with as straight a face as I could muster. “Most summer nights are beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Hmph,” Dee Dee snorted, putting the glass down and wiping the bar. “What I think is that you are going to get lai—”
“Ladylike?” I interrupted before she ABC could finish the word. “Lazy? How about literal or, better yet, literary?” I smiled. “Shall we discuss our favorite authors?”
I don’t know why I wouldn’t let her say “laid.” It’s not like I didn’t know what it meant. It’s just, well, it didn’t seem right or polite somehow, as if it would be disrespectful, both to me and to Candace. That’s it—it would have been disrespectful, and I didn’t want that.
“Hah!” Dee Dee laughed and threw the rag under the counter. “Good for you, Nina.” Her cheeks dimpled slightly as she looked me up and down with unmistakable approval. “Good for you. So,” she continued, “what do you want at my bar?” She spread both hands on the counter to lean on her elbows and talk with me.
“We’re going out for a late dinner, French, so what do you recommend?” If anyone knew what went with what, it was the bartender, and Dee Dee was one of the best.
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips and considered. “Start with a merlot? Or what about a white?” She shifted to another part of the counter and searched under the bar.
“Here,” she presented me with two glasses, “start with white for now,” and she filled the glasses about halfway, “for a fresh palate and,” she searched a shelf and came back with a dark bottle, “finish with a good Bordeaux!” She set the bottle on the counter in front of me with a flourish.
I stared at the bottle. “You’re not seriously giving this to me?” Even with drinks on the house, that was a pretty pricey gesture.
“Why not?” Dee Dee shrugged. “You never really get anything from the bar. Most of the time, that is.” Her lip curled slyly. “Besides,” she continued, “this way you will impress her and you can get, um, literary.” That sly curve twitched when I raised an eyebrow at her.
Still, I was rather doubtful. I mean, I would have rather paid for the wine and said so.
“Nina, you make the club lots and lots of money. Think of it as bonus!” she insisted. “Now, go!” she ordered. “Go give her the glass, and I will put this in a bag for you.” She waved her hands at me, shooing me along. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded, a hand on her sharply arced hip when I didn’t move fast enough.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I raised my hands in mock alarm and jumped away from the bar, taking the wineglasses with me.
“Don’t forget the Bordeaux!” Dee Dee called to my back.
“I won’t!” I assured her over my shoulder, and I carefully returned to Candace, trying not to spill anything. I didn’t want Dee Dee’s rag to make a sudden and snappy appearance near me or, even worse, on me.
I had a very visceral memory of the sponge. You know, the you’ve-got-some-dirt-on-your-face, come-here-and-let-me-clean-it-for-you stinky sponge that every household in creation has. Not that Dee Dee’s rag was like that; she was a bleach fanatic. It’s just, well, that’s what it made me think of. I shuddered, remembering the nasty, wet smell of that sponge, but controlled my hands quickly—I didn’t want to spill the wine.
“Try this.” I offered a glass to Candace as I neared, relieved to not have to balance it anymore.
“Thank you,” she said as she lifted the stem from my fingers. “White wine for a fresh palate?” She swirled the wine, then held up her glass. “To a beautiful summer night?”
I stared a moment, surprised to hear the words I’d said moments ago to Dee Dee, but I recovered quick enough. “To a beautiful summer night,” I agreed. Candace lightly tapped her glass to mine, then took a sip. I did the same—not bad, not too dry, not too sweet. Knowing Dee Dee, it was probably a German Rhein.
“Very nice,” Candace commented contemplatively. “Wonderful, in fact.” She sipped again, finishing the glass.
I nodded agreement and did the same.
“So, ready to go?” she asked, regarding me over her glass. “Because I think,” and she peered out the window, “yes, our car is here.”
“Oh, yeah, would you just, um,” I glanced over at the bar, “give me a moment?” I took her empty glass. I wasn’t going to forget Dee Dee’s gift since she was so politely insistent, and I figured it certainly wouldn’t hurt my karma if I made the waitresses’ job a bit easier and took the glasses back to the bar.
“Certainly.” Candace shrugged good-naturedly and touched my shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the car, then?”
“Great. I’ll be right there.” And back to the bar I went.
Dee Dee hurried over, package in hand, as I approached.
“Here,” she announced, placing a medium-sized, baby blue gift bag on the counter as I set the glasses to one side. “If you don’t get to discuss your books, it will not be the fault of the wine!”
She laughed as I peered into the bag. She had wrapped the bottle in black tissue paper and placed a little silver ribbon around the top. As I reached into the bag for it, Dee Dee stopped me.
“No, that is for later, after the books!” Dee Dee grinned with secret mirth. “Promise?”
“Fine, I promise,” I agreed. Impulsively, I leaned over the counter and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. That was just so very nice of you.”
Dee Dee stood up straight, put her hands on her hips, and nodded from side to side. “So, go!” she shooed finally, picking up her rag to wave at me. “What are you waiting for?”
“Have a great night, Dee Dee.” I lifted the bag from the bar so I could go meet Candace.
“French—hah!” I heard her call to my back. “You let me know when you want real food, liebchen!”
I laughed as I walked out, visions of sausage and sauerkraut with large mugs of beer in my head, although maybe I was wrong. I’d have to investigate, I th
ought, just to make sure—and maybe take some Southern Champagne, otherwise known as Coca-Cola, with me, just in case it was truly, well, whatever. Coke would make it all better.
I was still thinking about Coke as I walked to the car, owned by one of the many local companies that exist on the Island. For whatever reason, there are no yellow cabs or gypsy cabs on Staten Island; the county doesn’t allow them. If you want a car, you have to call and reserve one. That’s just the way it is. Most of them seem exactly like regular cars and don’t have any identifying marks except the phone number on the door. But I could tell which one I was going to because the door was still open for me.
“There you are!” Candace exclaimed as I slid in.
“Where we going again, ma’am?” the driver asked as I settled the bag by my feet. I didn’t know, of course, so Candace gave him directions.
“By the way, earlier, did you say your surname is Boyd?” Candace asked with studied nonchalance as she settled into her seat. I could tell it was an act, though, because her eyes were way-wide, and she pursed her lips too tightly.
“Yes, why? What’s yours?” I asked her with a grin, trying to set her at ease. You know, for a moment there, she’d looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
Candace blinked and recovered herself. “Oh, it’s…I didn’t hear you clearly, that’s all. Mine is Neils, by the way. Candace Lindsay Neils, actually.”
“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, by the by.” I held out my hand. I was surprised that I hadn’t told her my last name before. I usually always tell people because there was one thing that really, really bugged me, to the point where I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to do it. What is it with lesbians and no last names? That just so pisses me off.
Candace stared at, then finally shook my hand. “The pleasure is all mine.” She grinned back. “So then, what’s in the bag?” She reached over me for it, but I caught her shoulders as she lunged across my ABC lap.