Two for One-Relatively Speaking (The Two for One series)

by Sean David Wright

  “God, that feels wonderful!” Arlene exulted. “Darling, I feel so aware! I can feel the air in this kitchen touching every inch of my skin!” She took a deep breath. “You were right, it’s so liberating!”

  The phone rang; Katie picked up the cordless handset that was on the table. It was her friend, Kendra, a mate from work, asking if she and Katie would be playing racquetball today as they did almost every Saturday.

  “I have to cancel today,” Katie told her. “Sorry, but it’s just that I’m not sure what time I’ll be getting back from the Twilight Zone.” And she hung up.

  Arlene said, “I am resolving right now that unless we need to leave this house I am spending the entire day today naked.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Arlene,” Katie said, concentrating really, really hard on keeping her eyes above Arlene’s neckline, “you don’t have to do that. It loses its charm after the first couple of hours anyway. In fact, why don’t you get dressed again and take this whole nudity thing slowly at first, okay?”

  Katie’s eyes betrayed her then by dropping down to Arlene’s breasts. With the exception that Arlene’s nipples were slightly darker than the dusty rose color of Danielle’s it was remarkable how similar these breasts were to those Katie knew so well. With an incredible effort Katie wrenched her eyes back to Arlene’s face.

  “Get dressed? Don’t be silly, darling,” Arlene said. “I realize now I’ve waited thirty years for this kind of freedom.”

  “Great,” Katie muttered. Suddenly Arlene leaned forward and took hold of Katie’s hand, which was the last thing Katie wanted as it caused her heart to flutter as those alarming sensations of arousal made themselves known again.

  “You know, darling,” the Arizonan said, “I’m glad we’re here alone because I wanted to apologize to you ever since I first arrived yesterday.”

  “Apologize?”

  “Yes, for how I treated you when we first met. I know I said some things pertaining to your being a lesbian that may have hurt your feelings…”

  Let’s see, Katie thought, you accused me of “ruining” your daughter and filling her head with subversive ideas and in general made me feel like I was the ringleader of some kooky Sapphic cult that went around trying to steal “normal” women from their rich boyfriends.

  “No harm done,” she squeaked, wanting desperately to extricate her hand from Arlene’s.

  “My behavior was reprehensible, especially in light of my recent reawakening as a lesbian. Can you forgive me?”

  Katie nodded. “Consider yourself forgiven,” she declared and finally felt free to politely take her hand away.

  “Good!” Arlene decided they both needed more coffee and walked across the kitchen to retrieve the pot. Katie forced herself to not watch. Instead, she stared out the window into the backyard that still had patches of white from a recent snowfall; but to do this took the same amount of willpower she employed whenever there was chocolate cake in the house. After filling both their mugs and sitting back down Arlene then said, “Now tell me, darling…since you’ve been a practicing lesbian all of your life, can you give me any pointers?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh, but I bet there is so much I need to learn, right? I’ve spent so many years repressing my true self that I can’t imagine I’m good enough to satisfy a woman who has sex with other women more than what I’m used to.”

  Katie’s ears pricked up and she leaned forward.

  “What did you just say?” she asked.

  “What if I’m no good, darling?” Arlene said, either ignoring or not hearing the question. “I mean, being with a man in bed is ridiculously simple; not that you would know, but trust me it is. Especially a man like Harold who—“

  “Who isn’t the greatest of lovers; yeah, I got that yesterday,” Katie said. “What did you mean when you just said—“

  “But women are so much more complicated, aren’t we? I mean, it takes more to, well, get us off.” She leaned forward again. “Give me a hint, darling, what are the secrets of full-time lesbians? For example, what are some of the things you’ve learned to do over the years to satisfy a woman?”

  She can’t be serious, Katie thought. She can’t possibly expect me to have this conversation with her, especially since she knows that the only woman I satisfy right now is her own daughter! But apparently Arlene was serious, as evidenced by the eager stare she was giving Katie, the stare of an enthusiastic student awaiting her first lesson. Katie would’ve like nothing more than to leave the kitchen right then but for some reason her mind was incapable of coming up with a valid excuse, though she tried. She decided to buy herself some time by promising to give Arlene the addresses of some tasteful websites she knew of offering lesbian sex tips.

  Katie was then hoping she’d successfully be able to change the topic of conversation but before an alternative came to mind Arlene said, “So tell me what your types are. Who are the women that catch your eye? Obviously Danielle is your type but I suspect she’s everyone’s type; she’s gorgeous. As for me, I don’t think Asians appeal to me but several black women have caught my eye, especially the ones that have Max’s coloring. And I’m certainly not drawn to large women, I can tell you that.” She gave Katie an interesting look. “You know, when all is said and done I think I’d really enjoy having somebody a lot like you. You’re perfect—very sexy, incredible body, long legs—I like that and—”

  “Pee!” Katie suddenly blurted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have to pee!” Katie said. “Yes, that’s it. I have to pee. This coffee went right through me. Will you excuse me?” And before Arlene had a chance to respond Katie was hurrying out of the kitchen.

  “We have got to fix your mother!” she said moments later, bursting into her bedroom where Danielle was still sleeping.

  Danielle, roused from her slumber by this exclamation which was accompanied by the door slamming shut, yawned widely and peered at her wife through eyes barely able to open.

  “What?” she mumbled.

  “The nakedness I can handle, sweetie,” Katie went on, “at least I think I can, I don’t know…but the questions about the sex tips and telling me I’m sexy…no way! We have to fix her!”

  Danielle sat up.

  “Why are you wearing Max’s coat?” she asked. “And who’s telling you you’re sexy while they’re naked?”

  Katie filled Danielle in on her morning thus far, excluding, of course, the bit about being aroused by Arlene in the buff, for along that path only madness could be found. When she was done Danielle said, “So my mom is in our kitchen, naked, having coffee and reading Smithsonian.”

  “Who knows what she’s doing now, Danielle. She may be out in the backyard burning all her clothes in a bonfire.”

  Danielle glanced at the clock on the nightstand; it was just after 9.

  “I’m calling Nita,” she said, picking up the phone.

  “I still think Carmen’s the better choice,” Katie offered.

  “Look, it’s my mom so I make the decision as to which lesbian I’m going to pretend to set her up with, alright?”

  Katie shrugged, took off Max’s coat and then disappeared into her room-sized closet to throw on pink sweatpants and a white tank top. When she reentered the bedroom Danielle was hanging up the phone.

  “Nita’s on board but can’t help us until tomorrow,” Danielle said. “A wedding she planned is going on today in Basildon and she’s on the A127 now.”

  “So what’s plan B?” Katie asked.

  “Let’s do what Max suggested,” Danielle answered. “Let’s take her out to a lesbian bar or two; I bet that’ll do the trick.”

  Chapter 10

  Saturday night/Sunday--London

  But Plan B didn’t work as well as they’d hoped.

  The trio had gone to The Powder Room, a new lesbian bar in SoHo. Danielle was hoping that the all-female clientele coupled with sights of women dancing with women, women making out with women and women going
home with women would quash Arlene’s budding lesbianism. But Danielle’s hopes were dashed. As soon as they’d entered the club Arlene—sheathed in a slinky blue dress that was more second skin than article of clothing— had attracted the attention of a fair share of the unattached women in the place. Even Katie couldn’t help but let her eyes occasionally devour her wife’s mom, and no amount of self-chiding could stop it.

  Positive proof of Arlene’s allure came in the form of a perky redhead who approached the threesome immediately upon them claiming an empty table and who asked Arlene to dance, an invitation Arlene gladly accepted to Danielle’s surprise. That was the last time Arlene spent more than a few minutes with the two women she arrived with. From their seats Danielle and Katie spent the next three and a half hours keeping track of Arlene’s movements, from perky redhead to lissome blonde to bosomy brunette to a black woman who looked like a supermodel to a waif who looked as if she may have snuck in with a fake ID.

  The most amazing (and surreal) aspect of the Powder Room experience was witnessing how easily Arlene flirted unabashedly with any of the women who succeeded in getting Arlene to themselves in a quiet nook of the club.

  “Jesus! Did she just sniff her neck?” Katie exclaimed at one point. She and Danielle had been spying on Arlene, who was then with the lissome blonde. They were inches apart in a secluded corner by a water fountain and Arlene had just leaned in to take a dreamy, seductive whiff of the blonde’s perfume, her nose gliding slowly up the other woman’s long neck, her hand on her waist keeping her close, her hair brushing her cheek; from the looks of it the blonde nearly orgasmed.

  “She can’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three,” Danielle gasped. “A fucking child is getting turned on by my mom!”

  “Sweetie, that’s not the most depressing part,” Katie pointed out after knocking back the remainder of her third vodka gimlet. “The depressing part is that your mom is getting more attention than we are.”

  ***

  On Sunday morning Danielle knocked on Arlene’s bedroom door and told her mother that she and Katie were going out; no further explanation was given and quite frankly Arlene was in no condition to hear it if it had been. After all the dancing she’d done and the consumption of all the drinks that had been purchased for her by the perky redhead through to the possibly underage waif Arlene needed much more sleep.

  Nita Meadows worked as a wedding planner. She jokingly referred to her business as a full-service matrimony outfit because once the couples whose weddings she planned had had enough of each other she’d refer one of them to her brother, a divorce attorney. More than once since meeting Nita did Danielle remark to herself how much Nita reminded her of Arlene, with the one big exception that Nita actually worked for a living. But other than that? Same amusing pretentiousness, same favorite word, same religious love for Max Bland, same time-defying beauty—only instead of resembling Susan Lucci, Nita looked more like Jane Seymour.

  Danielle and Katie met Nita that Sunday morning for breakfast at Oscar’s, a Kensington restaurant.

  “Oh, I hate the flip-floppers!” Nita declared after cappuccinos were served and her two companions had filled her in on the situation. “That’s what I call them. Do you know, darlings, that, oh, I’d say three years ago, I had my fourth flip-flopper? A housewife from Bristol I met at a wedding I did there. Swore she was now a lesbian because her hubby had just lost the mortgage payment on Manchester United. Swore she found me irresistible and wanted me to initiate her in the fine art of our unique kind of lovemaking but as soon as I had her in my hotel room she bolted the moment my back was turned! So what is it you’d like me to do, exactly?”

  “It’s simple, really,” Danielle said. “Meet us for dinner tonight and put the moves on my mother.”

  “Right,” Katie added, “just flirt with her a bit.”

  It was arranged for seven that night. At Momo, Nita would “by chance” encounter Danielle, Katie and Arlene, be invited to join them and then attempt to chat up Danielle’s mother even going so far as to invite her out for drinks afterwards.

  “I will lay it on thick, darlings,” Nita promised. “If she’s a true flip-flopper I’ll certainly scare her straight.”

  Later at Momo Danielle, Katie and Arlene had been seated no more than five minutes when suddenly:

  Look who’s here!

  I just stepped in for a quick bite.

  Are you alone? Why don’t you join us?

  You won’t mind?

  Absolutely not! It’s been ages since we saw you! By the way, this is my mother, just arrived from the States…

  By “sheer coincidence” the seat opposite Arlene at the table was available; Nita took it and then proceeded to play the part of smitten woman perfectly, hanging on Arlene’s every word, her eyes telegraphing desire, flicking her hair, licking her lips at just the right moments, making comments full of double entendres. Through it all Nita often ran her fingers in an apparently absentminded way along the cleft of her breasts, such cleavage amply displayed by the Versace blouse she had chosen to wear.

  To Danielle’s delight Arlene seemed less than thrilled with Nita’s attentions and the clear signals the wedding planner was sending her. Overall, the nascent lesbian appeared nervous, even embarrassed, having trouble meeting Nita’s eye, refusing to respond in kind to Nita’s overt flirtations—in short, the contrast between now and her behavior last night at The Powder Room could not have been clearer. There would be no nuzzling in a dark corner this time, Danielle believed.

  After the main course dishes were cleared away Nita asked Arlene, “Have they taken you to Vertigo by any chance?”

  Arlene merely shook her head.

  “Oh, darling, it’s fabulous! Hard to get into but I did the owner’s wedding…we must go tonight!” She turned to Danielle and Katie, made a show of asking the daughter’s permission though the answer had been decided earlier in the day over eggs and bangers at Oscar’s.

  Arlene seemed uncertain, she even suggested they do it another night but Nita was positively insistent and when Nita was positively insistent it was hard to say no and so the last Danielle saw of her mother that night was when the cab bearing Arlene and Nita sped off in the direction of Tower 42.

  “Mission accomplished,” Danielle said, watching the taillights of the cab dwindle.

  ***

  Sunday--Liverpool

  Max awoke early this morning, an oddity for a man who considered 9 a.m. the crack of dawn, but sleeping in a strange bed always had that effect on him.

  He’d gotten through the first stack of stories last night, fifteen in all, scribbling notes, comments and rants in a notebook and separating out those written by authors who would survive tomorrow’s cut. The keepers were actually rather good, one was even spectacular, but the losers spanned the range from merely bad to Christ-almighty-the-instructions-on-bottles-of-shampoo-are-written-better.

  After breakfasting in his room Max thought it best to unwind a bit before reading the second stack. He thought it would be nice to spend the morning strolling through Liverpool. And although Liverpool was no London it nonetheless did have an immense advantage over the capital in that within its borders there was no Arlene Edwards (or Corcoran or whatever the hell she called herself nowadays) who was now under the zany idea that she was a lesbian. He actually laughed out loud on the elevator ride down to the lobby thinking of the nuttiness which must be going on at home and not at all feeling any sympathy for Danielle. When you make your bed by sharing your address with your parents you need to lie in it.

  He decided to go shopping for presents to bring home and he began in the Liverpool Arts Market, getting Danielle a beautiful handmade scarf crafted by a local artisan and Katie a necklace with a peace symbol carved in hematite. He also purchased a gift for Arlene: an illustrated collection of lesbian erotica by well-known gay authors. That ought to earn him a few interesting glares from Danielle.

  His route back to the hotel took him past the university, a
fact he may not have noticed, so absorbed was he in thinking about the show, had it not been for something which caught his attention.

  Outside the entrance to one of the campus buildings a small protest was under way. There weren’t many protesters, twelve or thirteen at the most, and they seemed to be having trouble attracting attention; no one in their number had thought to bring a megaphone and whatever it was they were chanting was lost in the noise of the nearby thoroughfares. With his mind preoccupied on the show, Max, too, initially laid eyeballs on the bunch for maybe two seconds but suddenly did a double-take. The name of the edifice in front of which the protesters were gathered had registered in his mind during his fleeting look and it now made him slow his step.

  It was the Alumni Social Club; the same building Writer’s Block was to be filmed in. Now he was curious about this demonstration but more out of a sense of self-preservation. After all, if Katie learned that he had been starring in a show filmed in a building with a secret laboratory wherein horrible experiments were conducted on helpless animals he’d never hear the end of it, so he figured he’d better at least find out what the ruckus was about just to be on the safe side.

  That’s when he learned the protesters didn’t have a problem with animal-testing.

  Apparently they had a problem with him.

  “No To Bland!” one sign read. Another stated “Bland Bad For Minds!!” A third bore his name behind a big red X and yet another decried “Max Bland Hates Jesus!”

  He moved closer. Now he could hear what they were chanting: “Take a stand! No to Bland! Take a stand! No to Bland!” over and over while waving their placards in rhythm with the couplet. The group of protesters was prevented from getting too close to the Social Club building by virtue of the fencing the BBC had erected around the structure and by the three security guards behind that fence who were watching this scene with bored expressions.