Heteroflexibility (12 page)

The song had a driving beat and very little tune. I looked out over the edge of the booth and everyone cheered. Nikki gave me thumbs up.

But as the lyrics continued, I felt worse. Experimental game? Would that be how Samantha saw it? Of course.

I faltered a bit and the DJ squeezed my arm, pointing at the screen and lifting the microphone back to my lips.

For an eternity the song went on. I felt certain everyone knew I was a fraud, a harlot, a raging bitch. I glanced up at the DJ, who smiled and nodded.

Finally, it ended. The crowed cheered from below. I had passed.

“Nice job,” he said. “Have fun tonight!”

I clunked slowly down the steps, as if my execution waited below. Samantha stood at the bottom, holding out her hand. I might have preferred a guillotine, a lethal injection, even electrocution seemed bliss.

“That was so hot,” she said, pressing against me. “Let’s find a more private place. There’s scores of dark corners here.”

I hesitated, but she led me past the dance floor to a narrow corridor near a back exit. The walls were painted red, one brick, the other a rough textured paint. She pushed against me until I backed into a corner.

“I want to kiss you again,” she said, coming at me with more passion than anyone had ever shown me before. I had no idea what to do. Turn her away? Say no?

I should run.

She wasted no time, but covered my mouth with hers, instantly snaking her hand beneath my sweater.

I didn’t really respond in any way, mind racing to get me out of this. She slipped my bra strap off my shoulder, loosening it enough to expose my breast. She cupped it carefully, with curiosity and interest, no frantic feel-up or careless smashing. Way better than any man. What if I didn’t really know what I was? I might not be lying. Maybe all my life until this day had been the lie.

I tried kissing her back, but it wasn’t right somehow. When I imagined giving up boys, I rebelled. This desire for men rose to the surface, bubbling up and discoloring the effect of Samantha, now pushing my bra completely out of the way.

She lifted my shirt, mouth hot on my breast. I flushed with heat again and didn’t push her away, how could I, locked tight in the corner. Everything she did bespoke of experience and desire, two things that had been sorely lacking in my life. I realized my hands were in her hair, pushing her against me.

She chuckled and pulled away. “That’s enough for now. I just might take you home with me, though, and see what else we’ve got in there.”

I felt completely out of control. I had no idea what I was doing. Leading her on? Or her me? Was I bi? What did this mean? I stumbled after her, straightening my clothes as we headed back toward the main hall.

Nikki waited just outside the end of the corridor. “You never said you were heteroflexible.”

My face burned. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“She’s straight?” Samantha asked.

“You bet your strap-on she is.” She looked at my hand. “But not wearing the ring anymore, at least.”

“You’re married?” Samantha gripped my hand more tightly. “I don’t believe it.”

“So how was it?” Nikki asked.

I sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”

“To be with a girl?”

“We were just talking.”

“That’s not the way it looked from the spectator’s box.”

I turned to peer back down the corridor. Dim, almost dark, but still visible. Oh, God.

Samantha dropped my hand. “Are you really a hetero?”

“The player got played,” Nikki said.

Samantha strode off, hands in fists.

“Samantha, wait.” But she ignored me, hurrying toward the front door. “What did you do that for?” I asked Nikki.

“You were in over your head.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Don’t take this out on me. I’m not the one half dressed in the back of Rainbow.”

I walked away, winding through tables. Girls who had watched me sing clapped me on the back and smiled. I wanted to yell at them, tell them what a whore I was. A faker who faked faking.

I stalked through the Hoebags and grabbed my purse.

Mary tried to stop me. “Zest, wait. Are you okay?”

Nikki had followed. “Let her go. She’s had a rough night.”

“Is she all right to go home by herself?” Mary asked.

I slung my purse over my shoulder. “I’m right here, you know.”

Bradford stepped out from behind the others. My heart clenched all over again in such awe of his perfect presentation. He wore a thin sweater with a sharp-collared shirt. “I can take her home,” he said.

No, no no no. Not him. Please don’t let me be humiliated in front of him.

“Bradford, I’m glad you’re here,” Mary said. “I think she’s mad at us.”

Of course I am!

And myself.

Bradford’s blue eyes gazed at me steadily. “Will you come with me? Is that okay?”

“I--I don’t know.”

“Try me.” He steered me forward with only the lightest pressure on my elbow.

I moved forward haltingly, clutching my purse. I was furious, humiliated, and certain I’d just lost the wedding gig.

“Let’s keep going,” Bradford said, again administering that gentle firmness to my arm.

As we passed the bar, I caught a glimpse of blond hair slicked back in a chignon. Fern? I tried to stop and turn, but Bradford kept me moving until we were out the door.

The air hit me in a cool blast. “It got cold again,” I said lamely.

“Yep.”

“Last night it was so warm.”

“That’s Texas for you.” He moved me past open bar doors until we reached a block of regular businesses, dark and closed up for the night.

My eyes began burning in the wind and I stopped, leaning against a cold concrete wall. “I can’t go on.” I never cried and I wasn’t going to now. Still, my nose began to run, and I swiped it with the back of my hand.

He sat us down on a bench. I tried to stare at my shoes, but I was irresistibly drawn to his face, that perfect jaw and crystal eyes. “I’m a mess.”

“Those girls shouldn’t have put you in such a position.”

How much had he seen? “I think they’ll fire me.”

“The Hoebags? Not likely.”

“Oh, they will. I was awful. You didn’t see—”

“The thing with Samantha?”

I groaned. He did see.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He shook his head. “I can guess. She’s a pretty fast mover.”

“I did everything wrong.”

“Nope. Not by a long shot.”

“They won’t want me to do the wedding.”

“I doubt that. Those girls have had their share of one-night stands.”

“Is that what it was? I had a one-night stand?” I shivered.

He squeezed my hand. I didn’t want him to let go, but he stood us both up. “A front’s blowing in.” We walked along the street until the noise of the bar district faded. He pointed to a dark blue sports car parked on the curb. “This is mine.”

I caught my reflection in the window, my ironed hair kinking up again, dark sockets for eyes. Mom spoke to me. “It’ll take more than makeup to fix that face. Make sure you marry someone who can afford plastic surgery.”

“Can’t they move belly fat to your lips or something?” I realized I’d said it aloud.

“Not the best idea,” he said. “Here we go.” He opened the door and eased me inside.

I sank into the low bucket seat. The vivid blue hood stretched out before me, sleek and sexy. “What is this car?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“BMW M3.” He started the engine. “Where should I take you?”

I swiped my nose again. “Home.”

“With me?” His teeth gleamed in the darkness.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

My throat closed up, eyes burning again. “Actually, I don’t have a home.”

He flipped open the center console and pulled out a Kleenex. “Divorce going badly?”

I tried to clear out my nose without a horrid honking blow. “She’s pregnant.”

“Who?”

“The other girl. The reason my husband ditched me.”

He sucked in a breath. “That’s harsh.”

“And I got kicked out of speed dating.”

He pulled onto the street and stopped at a red light. The car rumbled, low and powerful. Was everything about this man beautiful and perfect? I waited for his negative reaction, but he remained silent. “I know it was too soon. You don’t have to say it.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Fern dragged me there. But you have to be divorced.” I covered my nose with the soggy tissue. “They told me to leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There was a really nice man there too.”

“I’m sure there was.”

“You would have liked him.”

Passing headlights flashed into his eyes. “I’m sure I would have. How are you feeling? Sick? Sleepy?”

“Stupid.”

At his silence I suddenly realized what a horrid mess I was. Sniffling, like a freaking imbecile, over what—a dumb rule at a stupid dating game for losers. And for French kissing a strange girl. Among other things. I tugged at my shirt.

“Fern’s. Take me to Fern’s. Fifth Street. Eight hundred block. Big condo building. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Got it.”

“I don’t want to go there, but I have nowhere else to go.”

“The offer is open. I have a spare bedroom.”

The passing lights lit up his face. “You have been nicer to me than anyone I’ve ever known, and I just met you yesterday.”

“I like you.”

I clutched the disintegrating Kleenex. “I have no idea why.”

“You’re funny. You’re original. You’re cute. I like your singing.”

Cute? He meant my singing. “HOW did I get roped into that?”

“It’s Texas. I’ve discovered that people get roped into things.”

“You’re not from here?”

He shook his head. “I moved here in 2004.”

“From where?”

“California.”

This new information shocked me right out of my pity party. Why would a gay man leave California for Texas? “Was there a reason?”

“The scene got bad for me.”

“The gay scene?”

He cocked his head. “Not so much that. Just my scene.”

“Did you have a salon there too?”

“Yes.”

“And you closed it?”

“I did. Started over.”

“Because of the scene?”

He grinned. “Because of the scene.”

So he didn’t want to tell me the real reason. Fine. We pulled up in front of Fern’s condo building. I fumbled with the door handle and finally managed to wrench it open.

“I should walk you up,” he said.

“You can’t park here.” I gestured in the direction of the tow warning sign. “And the garage is a hassle. I’ll be fine.”

“I feel like I should walk you up.”

“That’s okay. I’m having a fling with the elevator man. You might cramp my style.”

He smiled, good God, that stupidly devastating smile.

“Is your car parked somewhere? You want me to get it?”

“It isn’t far enough to worry about. I’d have walked to the bar, but Fern wore four-inch heels. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

He moved his hand back to the gear shift. “See you Friday at the airport then?”

“Maybe. If I’m not fired.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“You would do that?” I really couldn’t afford to lose the wedding.

“Of course.” He touched my arm, the lightest graze. Everything inside me zinged. Why, WHY did he have to be gay?

“Thank you.” I wanted to kiss his cheek, or something, but I just didn’t do things like that. “Here’s my number, if you need me.” I tugged a business card out of my purse, Photography with
Zest
, what a crock, and laid it on the console.

“Good. And Zest?”

He’d never said my name before. It hung between us for a moment. “Yes?”

“It IS going to be fine. I know these girls. Okay?”

I nodded and clumsily hauled myself from the low seat. As soon as I closed the door, the BMW pulled away in a gleam of dark blue.

What a freaking day. Before yesterday, my sole exposure to lesbians was a talk show host. Now I’d danced with one and made out with another.

I punched in the code to enter the outside door. I hadn’t even done anything. It was just touching.

“Excuse me?” Elevator Boy was just inside the door, leaning on the front counter by an oversized security guard, and staring at me quizzically. “Did you say you needed touching?”

 “I said that out loud?”

“You did. And I got the moves.”

Both men’s laughs rang in the marble foyer as I ran for the stairwell.

Chapter 15: Elevator Trolls

I flung myself on Fern’s red sofa. I didn’t even feel up to inflating my bed. Fern would be home eventually. We’d separated during outings before, so this was no big thing. Besides, I wasn’t really mad at her. It wasn’t her fault that I’d been kicked out of speed dating. She probably didn’t know the rule.

I grabbed the remote to the television. It wouldn’t power on. I shook it, punched more buttons. Still nothing. Jeez. Wouldn’t anything go right?

I stumbled into the kitchen to look for batteries. I opened the first drawer. Perfect cutlery, neatly arranged. She probably never used it.

A second drawer held designer towels and a few pot holders, some still with tags. Life with a trust fund and a power job. She bought things she’d never even use on her smoothie and liquor diet.

The third drawer looked more promising. A few owner’s manuals. Spare keys. Pens, markers, matchbooks. Two loose batteries, the wrong size.

I pushed a few things around, looking for more. A red matchbook with a cartoon drawing of a hillbilly opening a beer bottle with his teeth stopped me cold. I picked it up, instantly recognizing it. Billy Bob’s Booze Bar. This was the same matchbook Cade had in his pocket. With the lipstick.

Oh my God. I dropped the matchbook and ran to Fern’s bathroom. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. Of course not. Pictures of Aud flashed by as I turned on the light. And Manny in the sling. Wasn’t he married too? Hadn’t she mentioned his “possessive hag?” How could I not know this about her?

Her makeup was all stored in a custom cabinet. I slammed through the drawers, knocking bottles and jars aside. Finally I found the one I wanted.