by Erin Zak
And honestly, I was impressed with her ability to entertain, considering how anti-social she made herself seem. I wondered if maybe she was more comfortable than she gave herself credit for.
When she first said she wanted to have a party for Beth, I knew immediately that it was not going to be something Beth would be cool with. She was going to be nervous and probably reserved, and she might even tell Jackie not to bother. I didn’t really understand it, but Beth had always been someone who shined in front of people but absolutely hated the attention.
It dawned on me, though, when I watched Beth with the slew of people Jackie had invited that she was exactly like Jackie. Biology was a crazy thing.
When I say “slew” of people, I meant it, too. There were so many people who showed up, readers of Jackie’s, authors from the area, and artists of all kinds. It was exciting. And Jackie asked Beth to showcase some of her paintings and charcoal drawings, which was such a great idea. Beth chose a few, including one of Jackie that I quickly said I wanted to frame. Jackie blushed ten shades of red when I said it, but I didn’t care. It was incredible. There were a couple others that stood out. One of the beach, one of Forsythe Park at home, and one of Peggy. The look on Peggy’s face when she saw it was as great as Jackie’s.
It was really nice to see Beth and Peggy together at the party now that I knew what was really going on. Especially since Beth talked to me about it, as well. She unloaded one night after a date with Peggy about her guilt over conflicting feelings with Brock and how ultimately, she really connected with Peggy. In a way she didn’t know existed. How could I argue or protest? It was exactly what happened with me. The crazy part about both of our stories was, had Beth not made me escape to St. Pete, neither of us would have been able to find ourselves.
It scared me that Beth was going to live a life which was going to cause her some issues. But I also knew she was strong, independent, and so special. Labels didn’t matter to her. And that was refreshing. I should have taken a page out of her book because I would so often jump to conclusions. Even though I would try my hardest to not judge a book by its cover, it still happened. Maybe because I was burned so many times in my past. I didn’t know. Working at the juvenile center for mental health was the longest stretch of time I went without being judgmental. I needed to get back to my roots. I was so much happier then, so much more in touch with the person I wanted to be. It was amazing the things I gave up for the people I thought I loved.
“So, you’re telling us that you really had no idea who Jackie was when you met her?”
I smiled at Tabitha, who was sitting on the chair across from the couch on the balcony. Janice was sitting on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. Tabitha was playing with her long, dark hair. They had come a long way since the Rusty Nail. “Yes, you heard me right.”
“How would she know who I was? She’s straight. Remember?”
Jackie was lying on the couch, her legs on my lap, and I was lightly scratching them. “Maybe we should take a page out of Beth’s book and not label me at all?” I asked with a laugh.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s turning over a new leaf,’” Jackie said. “I can do that. For sure.”
I nodded. “Thank you. And anyway, I’d probably identify more as bi. I mean, I liked boys for a long, long, long time.” I laughed. “A very long time. God, I’m old.”
“You’re not old,” Jackie said, her voice soft. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m most definitely bi,” Janice said while her head was leaned back in Tabitha’s lap. “Actually, I’m probably more pan than anything.”
“Equal opportunities to all, eh?” Jackie asked with a laugh.
Janice chuckled. “You know it.”
“It’s crazy to me. You got to know the real Jackie. It’s pretty cool.” She shrugged. “Most of the women in the les-fic community fawn all over her. You’re a lucky lady there, Susan Weber.”
Janice nudged Tabitha’s leg with her elbow. “Your incessant questioning is not making a good impression.”
“Susan’s fine. She already knows me and that I ask a lot of questions.”
“And how would she know that?”
“Well, I saved her from Dana in the bathroom at the Rusty Nail.”
“Wait. What?” Jackie lifted her head from the throw pillow and looked at me. “She did?”
I rolled my eyes then glared at Tabitha. “Yeah, she just cornered me. She was worried. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt you.” I squeezed right above Jackie’s knee. “It’s fine. We obviously talked tonight. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I promise.” I sighed and stopped scratching Jackie’s leg. “I do need to talk to you about something, though. I was going to wait, but I feel like Janice and Tabitha are going to be here awhile.”
“Probably not a bad assumption,” Tabitha said with a nod.
“I got the divorce papers today.”
This time Jackie sat up completely. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I guess because the party was tonight, and I knew you were worried about everything coming together. I didn’t want to distract you, or me, or even Beth.” I knew that was a horrible excuse, even if it was partly true. Seeing the papers had made this all real. The bruise had faded finally, but those papers were forever. “And now he has them, too. So, I’m a little worried.”
“I can imagine,” Janice whispered. I saw Tabitha shush her by placing her hand over her mouth. I shook my head gently, then made eye contact with Jackie.
Jackie swung her legs off me and placed her feet on the floor. She reached over, pulled me closer, leaned her head against mine, and said, “I will protect you. Please believe that.”
“I know you will,” I whispered.
“Excuse me?” Tabitha asked with a joking tone. “Are you kidding me? Is this man going to do something crazy?”
I shrugged. I honestly had no idea. He’d hauled off and hit me and threatened Melissa. I really didn’t know what he was capable of doing. The weirdest part was that I hadn’t heard from him and neither had Beth. Neither of our phones had missed calls or unanswered text messages. So, maybe he really didn’t care? I hated to admit it, but that thought was as unsettling as him being a raging lunatic.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Janice said softly. “I know people on the police force. If things get dicey…”
I looked up at her as her voice trailed off. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She stood and held her hand out to Tabitha. “Let’s get out of their hair.”
“We’ll see ourselves out, Jacks.” Tabitha waved, and when I heard them leave the condo, I looked at Jackie and burst into tears.
“Oh, baby, come here.” She pulled me into her, and I sobbed into her neck for what seemed like hours. The end of my marriage was happening. Everything I worked so hard for was ending. Everything I thought I wanted in this life was ending. I was so unhappy during the last few years. I would even say I was miserable. So, why was I so sad? It was as if a part of me was dying right along with the death of eighteen years of my life.
Jackie must have been reading my mind because I heard her say softly, “It’s okay to mourn the death of your marriage,” which made me cry even harder. I felt so confused and sad.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I absolutely needed to get back to therapy. I was a hot mess.
Abusive husband.
Divorce.
Fell in love with a person of the same sex.
Said person of the same sex was the biological mother of my daughter.
Said daughter also fell in love with a person of the same sex.
What the hell else needed to happen to me to make me realize that it was okay to break down?
At least Jackie understood; as I cried, she held me so close, let me collapse, and made sure to hold me up when I was finished. I didn’t know what I di
d to get so lucky, but I was so thankful for Jackie Mitchell. So very thankful.
Chapter Sixteen
BETH
Jackie dropped me off, asked if I needed help, and I told her no. I knew she wanted to be supportive, but I was so fucking nervous. All I wanted to do was be alone for the next two hours before the start of the competition.
I barely slept. Probably for more reasons than only my nerves, considering that I had the best night of my entire life only a few short hours earlier. All I could think about were Peggy’s hands and lips but also judges telling me that I was no good at life and questioning why would I ever think I could compete in this prestigious fucking art fair?
Goddammit.
Creative Minds: The Premiere Art Show in South Florida
I read the sign three more times before I finally went inside and checked in with the front desk staff. The check-in attendant’s name was Stella. She looked like Dorothy from the Golden Girls with her long, flowing shirt, white linen pants, and gaudy gold sandals. She was wearing a scarf and smelled exactly how I remembered my grandmother on my mom’s side smelling. I think she wore White Shoulders? I didn’t remember the name for sure, but damn, the smell? It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wondered briefly if maybe my grandma was watching over me. She was always my favorite, and she always encouraged me to draw and color.
“This is your booth, sweetheart,” Stella said as she breezed over to one of the many makeshift kiosks. There were three walls, made of two-by-fours and peg board, and each booth had a long table toward the back where the artists sat. “You might be the youngest participant we’ve had in a while.” Stella moved her eyes over my body and landed on my Vans. “Those shoes are you.”
Her voice was so deep. I kind of loved it. “Thank you, Stella.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re nervous. I can hear it in your voice.” Stella motioned for the two men carrying my canvas bags of paintings to set them down. “Carefully!” She moved around the kiosk and scolded them. She’d been running the show for years. That much was obvious. I was impressed. Not that I had anything to compare her to. But her presence was much needed. She was soothing in a total grandparent way, and I was eating it up because I sorely needed to be soothed. I watched her lean against the table toward the back of the kiosk. She clasped her long fingers together. She had a ring on every finger, and it made me smile. “Tell me. Why are you nervous?”
I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I am absolutely not kidding.” She delivered the line with such accuracy that I was upset with myself for being such a brat.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and folded my arms across my chest. Stella lowered her chin and looked at me over the top of her bifocals. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this. Look at all these artists. And their paintings and sculptures and drawings.” I moved my hand around the room. “I am sixteen years old. What have I experienced that will move people?”
Stella smiled. Her teeth were so straight and white. I immediately assumed they were false. Why would I even be thinking that? Focus, Beth! “I am sure you have some stories in that brain of yours. I’ve known you all of ten minutes, and I already can tell that this,” she motioned to my entire self, “has some spunk and life in it that is way beyond her sixteen years.” She walked over and put her hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” She leaned in a little closer. Her breath smelled like coffee. “I used to teach art years ago at the same high school where Mrs. Thorn teaches. We keep in touch, have coffee, and I swing by from time to time to check in on her. I’ve seen your work. You have nothing to worry about, Beth Weber.” And with that, she turned and left my kiosk, shouting orders at the men delivering art across from my kiosk.
My heart had settled down significantly. That was for sure.
I went to work and started to hang all of the paintings. I started with the first bag, of course, and was so happy when I hung the first painting. It looked so good against the dark pegboard background. I had brought three large tapestries, as well, to really spice up the area. I hung one on each wall, draped them strategically, and made sure the paintings looked good against each one. Peggy helped pick them out. She had such a great eye for design and decorating; they really brought out the colors of the paintings. The last piece was a rug that Peggy said was necessary. We bought it at a really awesome thrift store that I absolutely fell in love with. I didn’t really believe her, but when I laid down the red, wine-colored rug, it really tied everything together so well.
When I stood at the front of the kiosk and took everything in, it made me feel as if I was letting people inside my brain, which was exactly what I was going for. I wanted the judges to step inside my memories, my feelings, my soul. I wanted to make sure that it was obvious that this was my life.
At the left front side of the kiosk, I set up a wooden crate with a pamphlet I designed and printed at Staples. It explained my background, about my past work, and about this exhibit, as well as a title.
I went back and forth with the title. At first, I thought “The Journey” because that was exactly what it was. It started when I first stole my mom’s credit card and with shaky hands and a stomach full of guilt paid for the private investigator. I still didn’t understand how I’d gathered the courage to hitchhike to St. Pete from Savannah, either. Why was I such an idiot? I could have been killed!
So, no. “The Journey” was not going to cut it. It was too obvious.
And then I remembered the moment in the art studio at school where Peggy defended herself, defended why she told Mrs. Thorn about my paintings and my work. She said why the paintings meant so much and how special it was that I was able to witness this progression from strangers to lovers.
She said, “You’ve created this life to live in…”
It hit me when she said that because how often did people get trapped in horrible circumstances and think they couldn’t get out, they couldn’t escape?
It wasn’t only about creating a life to be able to live in, though. It was about creating a life to be able to survive in.
It was creating a life to love.
And that was what I called it: “Create a Life to Love.”
As I stood there, in my cute dress and my Vans, I felt truly proud for the first time.
Of course, the second the lights dimmed and Stella started rocking the microphone, I instantly felt those nerves again. It might have been the first time I ever actually prayed. And boy, did I ever pray.
* * *
JACKIE
There had been numerous moments in my life when I looked back on giving Beth up and wondered what the fuck I was thinking. I wondered where my brain was. What was I doing? Why did I basically trick someone to get me pregnant? Why did I fuck up his life, my life, my child’s life? Why was I so stupid and small and insecure with myself that I didn’t think I could handle a child?
I knew it was crazy to focus on the past and the poor decisions I’d made. The sheer amount of poor decisions I made baffled me. I couldn’t believe I turned out to be an even halfway decent human being.
Susan, on the other hand… She’d taken this tiny, special person that I never wanted to give up, sheltered her, raised her, and loved her as I would have. And it made my heart ache. It made me feel slightly better that I fucked up, that I did what I did. She was exactly the type of person I’d hoped Beth ended up with. She was exactly the type of person I’d wanted to end up with, which now that I thought about it, was such a weird coincidence.
I glanced over at Susan as we sat idling in the turning lane to the convention center. She was staring out the window. She looked wonderful in her black dress with tiny red roses all over it. It was a wrap-around dress, so at this angle, I could see her cleavage perfectly. Her hair wasn’t as curly as normal, but the gentle waves looked incredible. She was so much more than when she first arrived. Her skin tanned to a beautiful olive color, and I loved how it brightened her up so much. She had her lef
t leg over her right, and she was wearing black, strappy heels that buckled around her ankle. My mind wandered to taking that dress off her later and maybe asking her to keep those shoes on.
A horn blared behind me, and I jumped. “Shit! Sorry!” I looked up and realized the light was green. I was such an idiot.
Susan was looking over, a smile plastered on her face. “You okay?”
I swallowed hard. Then swallowed again. And one more time before I looked at her and nodded.
“Your mind is in the gutter, isn’t it?”
“Mine? Never!”
“Mm-hmm.”
I parked in the first spot I could find. The convention center parking lot was packed, which I knew it would be, but it was still nice to know I was right. Susan waited for me to come around the car to her before she started to walk, but before I could even think about what was going to happen next, I felt her intertwine her fingers with mine. My heart leapt into my throat. I looked over, then down at our hands, and smiled before looking forward.
Susan squeezed my hand before she said, with a voice so smooth it made chills erupt on my arms and legs, “I love you, Jackie.”
I kept facing forward, walking in step with her as we approached the entrance. “I love you, too,” I said when we got to the doors. I opened it for her, and before she walked in, she made eye contact with me and laid her hand on my face.
“I hope you love this exhibit.”
I smiled. “Of course I will.” My eyes followed her backside as she walked in, and I shook my head. For someone who was a lesbian for most of her life, I really had no idea how to handle my sexual desire for this woman’s body.
A small man with a mustache and a gold suitcoat stopped us when we got to the front desk. “Good early evening, ladies. How are we today?”
We both nodded and answered that we were doing well. He made sure to hand us both pamphlets and then pointed to the left.
“The exhibits are this way. Feel free to speak with the artists. And as always, you are more than welcome to offer to purchase any of the art. The judging has finished, and winners will be announced this evening. Light refreshments will be served, and there is a cash bar.”