Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice (9 page)

Traci made a pitiful face. “Don't tell me you're gonna make me smoke all by my lonesome?”

I was tempted, but I knew I had to be strong.

“I don't ever mix wine and weed,” I lied.

“No problem, I want you to be comfortable.”

“Thanks. So far, I am.”

Traci looked at me like she wasn't sure how to take that.

“So, what do you do at Loving Foods?” I asked after sipping my wine. “Are you a manager?”

“We're all managers, baggers, checkers, everything. It's a collective.”

“A collective? That's interesting,” I said, sucking the tangy sauce off of a corn chip.

“Yep, there are no bosses at Loving Foods. We're all workers.”

“Right on!”

“So tell me about yourself. I know you just graduated from college. What was your major?”

“Journalism. I was on the school newspaper. In fact I just got offered a job on a paper in Monmouth, Illinois. My practical side says I better take it. But after four years in the Heartland, I'm ready to cut loose.”

“Well, San Francisco is the perfect place for that.” Traci smiled, revealing a cute dimple underneath her chin.

“I don't doubt it. Our tour bus went down Broadway in North Beach. I couldn't believe it. Talk about a red-light district!

“I was thinking more of the Castro.”

“I don't believe we went there.”

“You can't go back to Chicago without seeing the Castro. The Castro is becoming the gay capital of the world. It's like a Moslem not going to Mecca.” Traci laughed.

I shuddered a little when Traci insinuated that I was gay. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make me sound defensive or even possibly offensive. So I just sipped some more wine and said, “Maybe I'll be able to work it in.”

Traci sucked on the joint. “So, what kind of stuff did you write about on the school newspaper? Political shit?”

I shook my head. “Mostly features. I did an article on streakers last year.”

“What did you say in the story?”

“Why they did it. You know, how people reacted to them. What their mothers would say, etc. I actually interviewed a black streaker.”

Traci really seemed interested in getting to know me. It was refreshing not to have a man trying to get into my pants for a change.

Traci nibbled on a corn chip. “I suppose a black man running buck naked through the cornfields might qualify as a political statement.”

“A couple of the brothas saw him. Everybody was talking about it at the ‘black table' at dinner for days. We couldn't believe it, a black streaker!”

“They probably would've arrested his behind or worse if he'd done it in town instead of on campus,” I continued. “The funny thing about it was the brothas who saw the dude said he was short on equipment, was a disgrace to black men everywhere.” I laughed, clapping my hands. I could tell I was feeling the effects of the wine.

“I hope I'm not disturbing anybody,” I said, covering my mouth.

“You're not,” Traci assured me. “Jawea is at her lover's down in Santa Cruz, and Kate is in India studying to be a yoga teacher.”

“Yoga, I've wanted to learn yoga for a long time.”

“Kate's pretty good. She's taught me some stuff.”

“Could you show me?” I was surprised that I felt comfortable enough to suggest that we do something that might require us to leave the kitchen. But I'd been curious about yoga ever since I'd heard about it, back when I was in high school. I was feeling mellow from the wine, and I was comfortable in Traci's company. I doubted that she would come out of a bag that I couldn't handle.

“Sure, why don't we go into my room and sit on the rug. I'll put on some Joan Armatrading and show you a few postures, OK?”

“Who's Joan Armatrading?”

“A dynamite West Indian sistah from England. You'll love her.”

I followed Traci down the long hallway into her room.

Traci turned on the box and disappeared into the closet. She reappeared wearing drawstring pants and a T-shirt. She hit the lights and played with the dimmer switch.

“That's good,” I said when the room was not too dark, but not too light.

We sat down on the blue and turquoise braided rug in front of the empty fireplace listening to Joan's deep, rich, jazzy voice. The sole of my right foot was resting on the inside of my left thigh as Traci had instructed. I glanced around her crowded room in the soft light. I admired the large Boston fern that hung in front of the middle window. A poster that read “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle” made me chuckle. The furniture was mostly crates, cinder blocks, and pieces of plywood, except for a foam mattress and rocking chair.

“Just a little more,” Traci said, gently pressing my right knee toward the floor.

“Whoa, I don't know if I'm in shape for this.”

“Just go with the flow. You're doing pretty well, although you really shouldn't exercise in these tight pants.”

“I guess it would be a little easier without them,” I agreed.

“Take them off, then.”

The thought of sitting around in my panties with somebody that I barely knew was a little strange. But like I said, I was feeling kind of mellow after the wine. Besides, what was there to be afraid of? And I was wearing my good panties. So, I unzipped my pants and pulled them off. Traci took them and threw them over the bentwood rocking chair.

“Cool, now let's try the other side.” Traci knelt in front of me and began pressing my left knee toward the floor.

“Good, all right, now sit cross-legged and let's try both knees.”

“Are you sure I'll ever be able to walk again?”

Traci ignored my concern and squatted in front of me and started pressing my knees down.

“Mmmmmm, mmmmm,” she giggled.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Traci said, but she continued laughing at me.

I straightened my legs out. “Why are you laughing then?”

Traci sat back on the rug and sighed. “It's not something I can tell you.”

“Why not? I want to know.” Maybe she was laughing because I was in lousy shape, I thought. What kind of a hostess was she, making fun of somebody? Traci knew I'd never done yoga before.

I frowned. “It's not polite to laugh at somebody and then not tell them why.”

“Stevie, I wasn't laughing at you.”

“Traci, I'm the only person here. We've already established that.”

“Look, Stevie, I'm just a little high. You know things are funnier when you're high.”

“Yeah, but what was funny in the first place?” I asked. I was beginning to feel paranoid, even though I hadn't smoked any of the joint.

“All right, Stevie, I was laughing because,” Traci giggled and covered her mouth.

“Tell me,” I demanded, feeling more and more irritated by the minute.

“OK, I was laughing because … I could smell you, OK?”

My throat felt tight. “You could smell me?”

Traci nodded.

“What do you mean, my perfume?” I asked, knowing full well that I wasn't wearing any.

Traci shook her head.

I held my breath. Was Traci trying to say that I needed deodorant?

“I'm not funky, am I?” I smelled under each arm to be sure.

“No, you don't understand. I could smell your pussy.”

I stared at Traci in horror. It felt like the room was caving in on me. I wanted to throw on my pants and run home. But home was two thousand miles away. Besides, I was too shocked to move. Had I heard this woman right?

“I beg your pardon?” I mumbled hoarsely.

Traci had the nerve to repeat. “I said I could smell your pussy.”

I cleared my throat. “Maybe you smelled something in the rug. Has it ever been cleaned?”

“It wasn't the rug, Stevie.”

“Do you all have a cat?”

“Yes, but Stevie, this was you,” Traci insisted. “I know this kind of pussy when I smell it.”

My face was on fire, my breathing had stopped. I couldn't feel my legs. I was torn between homicide and suicide. Somehow, I managed to stand up and grab my pants.

Traci stood up and stared at me in silence.

“I take a shower or bath every day and I'm not even on my period!” I blurted out.

But didn't those women in the magazine ads for feminine-hygiene sprays and douches claim they showered or bathed every day too? And didn't the ads make it clear that washing with soap and water simply wasn't enough? What if other people smelled me, and Traci was the only one who had the guts to say anything? A chill ran down my spine. What if the feminists were wrong? What if women did need to douche after all?

“Traci, you have a lot of nerve. As far as I'm concerned, you're worse than a man! I refuse to stay here any longer and be insulted.”

“Worse than a man!” Traci shouted, folding her arms. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“A man would've shown me more respect. You don't know me from Adam. You had no right to talk to me like that.”

“Like what? What are you talking about?” Traci asked, looking surprised.

“Don't play dumb with me. Hey; I'm sorry for offending you. If I can use your phone, I'll call a cab and get the hell out of your apartment.”

Traci walked toward me while I zipped up my pants.

“Whoa, wait a minute, Stevie, I wasn't offended in the least. I like the way you smell.”

“You mean you weren't trying to say that I stunk?” I gulped as I reached for my shoes. I jammed my feet into my sandals.

Traci shook her head. “Quite the contrary, I think you smell wonderful. It has nothing to do with being dirty. I wish women would appreciate themselves more.” She sighed. “Don't you ever smell yourself sometimes and like it?”

I hunched my shoulders. “Not really. I guess I never thought about it one way or another.”

“Stevie, it wasn't like I could smell you from across the room. I practically had my nose between your legs,” Traci reminded me.

I felt myself relax a little. “It's just that it's so personal, that's all.” Maybe I had made too much of it. But I still couldn't believe that I was talking about something so intimate with somebody I barely knew.

“Stevie, the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable.” Traci's dark eyes looked as soft as melted chocolate.

I felt my stomach quiver. On one hand I was a little tipsy from the wine and feeling attracted to Traci, but on the other hand I still couldn't accept the idea of getting it on with a woman.

“Traci, this has been educational, but it's late and I'd better go.”

“Stevie, why don't you extend your visit and stick around for a
real
education?”

“Look, this isn't my
real
life. This is a vacation. I've got to go back to Chicago and job hunt.”

“And then what?”

I wasn't sure what Traci meant. “I don't know, I guess once I find a job, I'll get an apartment.”

“And then what?”

“Who knows, eventually I'll probably get married and have kids.” I was surprised at how high my voice had gotten.

“Stevie, you can run, but you can't hide.”

“Who says I'm trying to hide?”

Traci picked up a plastic bottle and began spraying her Boston fern.

“It may not be tonight or next week or even next year,” she insisted between squirts. “But sooner or later you're gonna have to face who you are.”

Traci's words shot through me like a cannon. I stiffened my body in an attempt to deaden their effect. But I couldn't help imagining myself running through a dark tunnel, being chased by a monster. And I could see no escape.

“I know who I am,” I insisted, folding my arms defiantly.

“Sure, that's why you were hanging out at a lesbian dance. And that's why you let a lesbian bring you home.”

“It was a women's dance.”

“Whatever you say.”

“And you brought me home, but now I'm leaving.” I might not be able to control my attractions, I thought, but I could damn sure control my feet. Besides, who's to say that my attractions were sexual anyway? When a paper clip is attracted to a magnet, it has nothing to do with sex.

But I still felt scared inside. What if Traci was right? How would I ever know for sure what I was if I was too afraid to find out? Maybe if I faced my fears they wouldn't be able to haunt me anymore. But I didn't want to get high and get it over with. I'd tried that with a couple of men, and it hadn't worked.

“Look, Traci, I admit that I'm confused,” I said, sitting in the rocker. She plopped down on her foam mattress across from me. “I've had a few schoolgirl crushes,” I continued. “And I do notice attractive women, but I don't hate men.”

“Stevie, it ain't about hating men, it's about loving women,” Traci explained.

“Well, I've also been attracted to men,” I continued. “I don't know what that makes me. Besides, I'm not so sure I want to slap a label on myself. I guess I would really like to be free to explore.”

Traci nodded as a long-haired, gray-striped cat sauntered into the room.

“Meet Artemis, Jawea's fur child.”

I smiled. “Hi, Artemis, you're so pretty.” Artemis rubbed up against my legs.

“Plenty of women are exploring, so why don't you hang out here and explore then?” Traci asked as I rocked back and forth.

I petted Artemis. “Hang out here in this apartment?”

Traci nodded.

“Thanks, but I can't hang out here. I have a hotel room. And I have to consider my friends. I'm here on vacation, remember.”

“Stevie, I think it would be easier to blow your friends off than to go back to being a tourist and pretending like none of this ever happened. And by the way, you won't be in a hotel room, you'll be in the closet.”