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

by Sean David Wright

  “Good heavens, you’re not going to cry, are you?” she asked when she saw how watery Sloane’s eyes were.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sloane said, chuckling. She wiped her eyes with a meaty hand. “I’m being silly, I know. It’s just that I’m so glad to finally meet you! I’ve always wanted a big sister.”

  “And I’ve always wanted a little sister,” Danielle lied, having been perfectly content growing up an only child.

  “I just knew you two would get along fabulously!” This came from Arlene who draped an arm around each of the younger women. Rather, she draped an arm around Danielle; there was no getting an arm around Sloane.

  Arlene was positively beaming. “Now, wasn’t this a good idea, darling?” she asked Danielle.

  “Yes, Mother. So, Sloane,” Danielle began, leaving the group hug and taking a seat on the couch next to Katie who took hold of her hand, “I trust my mom gave you the tour of the house and helped get you settled?”

  “Oh yes, I’m all squared away,” Sloane chuckled. She and Arlene sat on the settee opposite the couch and Danielle couldn’t help wincing as Sloane eased her bulk down. It was a rather nice settee, an original Charles Eames from the 1960s which Danielle had procured via ruthless bidding at an estate auction, and Danielle wasn’t sure it had been designed for that kind of load.

  “You have a really nice house!” Sloane continued. “It just amazes me! I live in a two-bedroom apartment just outside of Pittsburgh so you can imagine how big this all seems.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like it and thank you for the compliment; just let me know if you need anything. Have you met Max by any chance?”

  Katie answered that one.

  “We can’t seem to find him,” she said with a knowing smile.

  “And we’ve looked everywhere,” Arlene added. “I even had your housekeeper try to reach him on the intercom thingy.”

  “I’m just dying to meet him!” Sloane gushed. “I can’t believe I’m in his house!”

  “He’s probably out, I’m afraid.” Danielle lied again, certain Max was home. But when Max wanted to remain hidden in the mansion it was impossible to find him—Danielle and Katie even suspected that as in many homes of this vintage (Trinity Manor had been constructed in the 1820s) there were secret passages and rooms which Max knew about but they didn’t. In any case, Danielle figured it was better to leave him alone. She rang for Maureen and requested that Champagne be served. A toast was made by Arlene: some drivel about welcoming new people to the family, but Danielle wasn’t really paying attention; she was concentrating too much on trying to comprehend what her eyes were showing her. Of all the various Sloanes she had imagined—Hippie Sloane; Boring Sloane; Gothic Sloane—none of them had been this ridiculous.

  For the next couple of hours the four women chatted and drank Cristal. Although Sloane happily answered any questions about herself that Danielle or Katie put to her those questions never touched upon the topics of Sloane’s mother, Sloane’s childhood or anything else that might remind them all that the only reason Sloane was here was because she and Danielle shared a deceitful father. They all knew that eventually it would need to be discussed but there was an unspoken agreement between the four that now was not the time to do so. Therefore the friendly interrogation of Sloane focused mainly on her years at Bryn Mawr; what she liked to do for fun; her love life and her job teaching advanced placement literature at a private high school outside of Pittsburgh.

  Danielle finally asked, “Well, Sloane, what do you want to do while you’re in England?”

  “Oh, everything!” Sloane answered with a chuckle and Danielle secretly hoped that “everything” meant shopping for decent clothes.

  “I want to do all the touristy stuff,” Sloane continued. “You know, the Eye; Big Ben; the changing of the guard; Buckingham Palace; riding one of those double-decker buses; yada, yada, yada. I’m sure you probably think that’s pretty boring, right?”

  “No, not all,” Danielle lied again, “I’ll be happy to take you anywhere you’d like; out shopping, for instance. You know, London has some quite top-notch fashion boutiques.”

  But Sloane waved that off.

  “Oh, no, I’m not really much of a fashion plate; besides, I’ve got all my comfy travel clothes with me in my bags.”

  Danielle gulped. Katie squeezed her hand to lend support.

  “I’ll probably just spend my souvenir money on snow globes and things like that.”

  Then it was Danielle’s turn to be interviewed by Sloane and again all questions stayed away from any topic that would force an answer involving the father the two women shared. Eventually, after learning about Danielle’s role at ARCL, Danielle’s favorite restaurants in London, and how Danielle had met Max in Arizona Sloane asked the big question.

  “So, is it true that you three are married? Like, to each other? That’s what Arlene told me.”

  “And they didn’t even invite me to the wedding,” Arlene complained.

  Danielle perked up at this new direction the conversation was taking. Here, maybe, was a chance to get rid of this human eyesore thus saving her the trouble of pretending to want to get to know her better and stepping foot on something as gauche as a tour bus, for if Sloane was a narrow-minded prig then Danielle could easily kick her to the curb.

  “It wasn’t a wedding, Mom,” Danielle said and then went on to explain to Sloane: “Legally we couldn’t get married in New York, of course, so we had what’s called a handfasting ceremony instead.”

  “It’s a Wiccan ritual,” Katie added. “We had it at a lovely park in the Bronx.”

  “Right. Anyway, the gist of it is that even though I am in separate physical and emotional relationships with Max and Katie all three of us are spiritually bound together and committed to respecting and protecting one another—just like the members of any other family. And though the ceremony was pretty much only symbolic we took it very seriously.”

  “Well, Danielle and I took it seriously,” Katie amended. “Max was simply humoring us.”

  “Which we love him for,” Danielle pointed out. “Anyway, for the sake of simplification I just refer to Max as my husband and Katie as my wife. See, we even wear wedding rings.” And she and Katie displayed their left hands, both of which bore identical platinum bands on the ring fingers.

  “And what do you call Mr. Bland?” Sloane inquired of Katie.

  “A variety of choice names, usually,” Katie quipped. “Technically, though, the term for what Max and I are to each other is metamour—one of those new-age words.”

  Sloane was shaking her head while staring at the two women and Danielle was sure she was about launch into a conservative-Christian/family-values tirade which would culminate in her squeezing onto the next plane across the Atlantic. But instead Sloane said:

  “Wow. That is so awesome!”

  “It is?” Danielle replied.

  “Yeah,” Sloane said. “I totally respect what you guys are doing, you know? The way you’re flying in the face of convention like this; it’s amazing!”

  “It is?” Danielle repeated.

  “Yes, sweetie, it is, remember?” Katie said, digging Danielle in the ribs with her elbow.

  Sloane said, “One of my best friends at Bryn got her Masters in Human Sexuality and her thesis was all about people who choose to live polyamorous lifestyles just like what you’ve got here. It’s awesome to actually meet a family like yours. Obviously Mr. Bland is a very open-minded individual, right?”

  “Isn’t it funny,” Katie began, “how Max always gets the credit for being the open-minded one? I mean, here I am, a lesbian in love with a woman who is in love with a man and yet no one ever credits me for being open-minded.”

  “I’m sorry, Katie…I wasn’t thinking; I didn’t mean to offend you,” Sloane said.

  “It’s alright,” Katie answered, waving off the apology. “I’m used to it. I think it happens because Max is so famous and is already thought of as being extremely libera
l thanks to Pope Anne. However, I would like it to be known that Max wasn’t the only one who had to make a rather serious compromise for Danielle’s sake.”

  Danielle leaned over and gave Katie a quick kiss.

  “Again, I’m really, really sorry, Katie,” Sloane said. “Actually, I know a bit about flying in the face of convention myself.”

  Arlene’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Darling! Are you bisexual also?”

  Sloane chuckled.

  “No, I’m just a plain vanilla straight girl, I’m afraid. No, my method of flying in the face of convention concerns my weight.”

  There was silence for a few moments and then Danielle said, “I don’t understand.”

  “You may have noticed that I’m a bit on the heavy side,” Sloane replied.

  “Um…well…I…um, really hadn’t—” was Danielle’s stammering attempt to respond to this. Feeling herself beginning to blush she looked to Katie for help.

  “Yes, we had,” Katie told Sloane directly. In all her years of dealing with people who fell short of society’s ideals, maybe because they were poor or handicapped or diseased or deformed she had learned one very important truth: if someone says to you “You may have noticed that I have a birthmark in the shape of Tajikistan covering the left side of my face” it is best not to insult their intelligence by pretending not to have noticed.

  “Well,” Sloane went on, “as I’m sure you know we live in a very weight-conscious society but the truth of the matter is that I like how big I am and I have no intention of slimming down. I don’t think I’d be comfortable as a skinny woman and besides, there are plenty of men out there who like large women.”

  “I can believe it,” Katie said. “And it’s good to see you’re fine with who you are. That’s very refreshing. More Champagne?”

  ***

  “That’s very refreshing?” Danielle mimicked when she and Katie were finally alone. It was just past one a.m.; she and Katie were in the latter’s bedroom, just arrived from escorting Sloane to her room and saying goodnight. Katie kicked off her shoes, got on the bed and sat cross-legged on the mattress; Danielle, meanwhile, simply began pacing.

  “You think she’s refreshing?” Danielle said.

  “Sure,” was Katie’s answer. “Someone—a woman, no less—that secure with her self-image that she doesn’t waste time trying to look like the latest Elle cover girl? That is very refreshing.”

  “It’s a crock of shit.”

  “What’s a crock of shit?” asked Katie as she unbuttoned her blouse.

  “That whole cockamamie story about wanting to be fat, that’s what. I have never heard such an idiotic declaration in my life.”

  Katie had taken off the blouse and her bra and was now leaning against the headboard topless. She said, “It does seem odd to hear someone say she wants to be that fat but we have to assume she’s telling the truth; that she likes herself that way.”

  “Oh, please! Just because the woman is too lazy to step on a treadmill doesn’t mean she likes to be fat. She’s lazy, plain and simple; she’s probably just tired of diets that don’t work and so she’s convinced herself that she enjoys being the size of a small moon.”

  Danielle had happened to glance over at Katie during this spiel and the sight of her wife lounging casually on the bed, pert breasts exposed, was enough to make Danielle leave off pacing in order to join the blonde. Soon Danielle’s own blouse and bra were off and the two women spent several rapturous minutes kissing deeply and sucking on erect nipples. When things had heated up to the point where the removal of each other’s slacks seemed imminent Danielle suddenly pulled away and said, “God, it’s so unhealthy, too!”

  At first Katie didn’t understand and was about to breathlessly remind her wife that they’d had sex countless times before and so far no alarming lesions had appeared on their bodies when she realized that Danielle must still be thinking about Sloane.

  “Well, yeah, sweetie,” Katie said, panting, determined to get this conversation over with so they could have some fun, “it is unhealthy to be so overweight but I assume she knows that. Maybe it actually satisfies some aesthetic value she has. Besides, she’s right, you know…there are a lot of men out there who fancy the big chicks. As a matter of fact…”

  Katie got off the bed and went to her desk where her laptop was plugged in; a slideshow screensaver consisting of photos of her and Danielle together was on. She instructed Danielle to join her.

  Katie brought up Google and typed “men who love fat women” in the search box; instantly, Google found over one million results and Katie clicked on the first one. In a moment a website was displayed that showed a full-color jpeg of a woman Sloane’s size completely nude laying back on a bed with an inviting look, her rolls of flesh splayed out. Her thighs were so enormous that it was impossible to see her genitalia and it was difficult to differentiate her breasts from the rest of the excess flesh. A flashing link at the bottom of the screen invited men to join and see thousands more pictures for only $29.95 a month.

  “God!” Danielle exclaimed with a wince. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

  “That is pretty bad,” Katie concurred. Another flashing button on the website offered a free tour and she clicked on it. She and her wife were then treated to a dozen more pictures of extremely heavy nude women of various races in poses meant to entice.

  “I would really consider sleeping with men if these were my only choices,” Katie said. She closed the web page.

  “You know what I’m worried about now?” Danielle asked.

  “I’ll only let you tell me if you take off your pants first.” Katie shut her laptop’s cover.

  Danielle laughed but obediently shimmied off her slacks. She got back into the bed with Katie.

  “I’m worried about introducing her to Max now. He’s going to have a field day with her.”

  And then Danielle worried about nothing more as Katie’s fingers began playing between her thighs.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Saturday, when Danielle and Katie went downstairs to meet Arlene and Sloane for breakfast Danielle could not prevent herself from wincing as soon as she laid eyes on her half sister. The woman was dressed, in Danielle’s opinion, like a trailer park housewife on laundry day: gray sweatpants, a white sweatshirt with the Budweiser logo emblazoned across her bosom and those horrid sneakers again. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and she had a Pirates baseball cap on. Nothing matched, nothing was coordinated. It was as if she had gotten dressed in the dark.

  “Oh my God, it’s Edna,” Katie whispered to Danielle when they were still far enough away to not be overheard, and with a smile Danielle had to agree. Edna was one of the main characters in The Remarkable Reign of Pope Anne I and one of the most memorable. A frumpy, overweight housewife who remains by Anne’s side from her schoolteacher beginnings in the Bronx all the way to her coronation at the Vatican, Edna was given some of the book’s best lines; but she is consistently portrayed throughout the novel as a physically unattractive specimen whose fashion sense is so awful that, as Max describes in chapter 2, “one would almost rather see her naked than clothed.”

  “Good morning, darlings,” Arlene greeted them.

  “Morning, Mother; morning Sloane. Did you sleep well?”

  Sloane told Danielle that she had had a wonderful night’s sleep and then raved about her accommodations just as Danielle wanted pursuant to Intimidation Rule Number Two. Sloane had been awarded the second best guest room in the mansion after the one now occupied intermittently by Arlene when Arlene wasn’t spending nights at Nita’s. It was more of a suite than a mere bedroom and Sloane confessed that it was bigger than her entire apartment back in Pennsylvania.

  “Where is Max, darling?” Arlene inquired. “I expected to see him come downstairs with you.”

  “Max is out, Mom. Naturally, he sends his regrets but he had an early meeting with his agent regarding the book signing on Tuesday; you know, th
at illustrated edition of Pope Anne.”

  Actually, Danielle had no idea where her husband was right now. As she and Katie were dressing this morning Katie had suggested Danielle call Max on his mobile but all that yielded was the discovery that he had thought ahead and changed his voicemail message:

  “Hi, this is Max. If this is Danielle or that other one, you’ll never find me in the house so don’t even bother. Scotland, Danielle…Scotland.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Arlene said with a pout.

  “I hope I get to meet him before I leave,” Sloane said, her own disappointment evident. “I’ve already bragged to all my friends that I was staying at his house. I don’t know what I’d tell them if I spent all this time here and never even got to say hello to him.”

  “Don’t worry, darling, Max is a very busy man but I’m sure he’s quite anxious to meet you as well,” Arlene said which, in Danielle’s opinion, showed how on top of things she was. “In the meantime, Danielle, where should we go for breakfast?”

  “Ah…breakfast,” Danielle said. “You mean at a restaurant? Out in public? Wouldn’t you rather just stay here?”

  “Nonsense,” Arlene rejected. “Sloane can eat at home back in Pennsylvania. Now, come on, I’ve been boasting to Sloane that you know all the most fabulous places to eat. Pick one.”

  “Right. Pick one. Well, that’s an interesting decision to have to make.”

  “Very interesting decision,” Katie agreed and Danielle knew that her wife had identified the same problem she had. Normally, the matter of where to enjoy breakfast or any meal for that matter was simply a question of choosing any one of a number of London restaurants, but normally they didn’t have a guest with them quite like this one. The Bank Restaurant was out; so was Nicole’s; La Galette; the Café at Sotheby’s, and there was no way they’d be allowed in Thames Foyer.

  “Fifteen?” Katie suggested, referring to Jamie Oliver’s trattoria on Westland Place.

  “No, too busy I would think,” Danielle said with a meaningful look, the meaning of which was that Sloane would be in danger of being mistaken for the kitchen help. “What about City Café?” she offered in desperation.