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Kate
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AT THE NIGHTCLUB entrance, a large woman with short, shiny black hair holds up a flashlight and extends a hand. “IDs ladies.”
“This is my ID.” Anita splays fingers around her face.
Kate pats her shoulder. “It’s a compliment.”
Anita’s frown reverses. “Oh. Well, hells, yeah. Here you go.” She presents her driver’s license as if it’s a platinum account.
“Actually, ma’am, we card everyone.”
“Hrm.” Anita’s shoes click as they wander down a darkened hall, toward the thump of bass speakers interspersed with siren sounds. “She called me ma’am.”
“Well I think you look young.” Kate appraises the posters on the walls for bands and special dance nights. She’s heard of none of the headliners.
“Really? Is the blouse a little see-through for this crowd? I don’t want to start anything tonight.”
They push through a heavy set of red velvet curtains and into a white glare. There’s a spotlight aimed at the curtain. They immediately stumble into each other and shuffle to the side of it blinking.
“I think we just failed our big entrance.” Kate struggles to adjust her eyes to in the dark perimeter. The rest of the nightclub is dimly lit. There are two bars to the left and right and on top of each is a girl in fishnets getting friendly with a chrome pole, which impales the bar and rises up to the ceiling.
“Jesus, Mary, and Saint Joseph,” Anita says.
The dancer twirls down to accept a bill from a patron, who tucks it in the strap of her black garter. The woman slithers back up the pole.
“Wow.”
Kate forces herself to look away, into the crowd mingling in the middle and to the back, where another velvet curtain backdrops the dance floor. Along the walls, there are risers with booths and chairs. Women decorate every corner of the nightclub—beautiful women, cute women, tough women, angry women, light women, dark women, laughing women, freaky women. Some are dressed like the dancers: in miniskirts, camisoles, and chunky stilettoes. Some sport massive dreadlocks and piercings. Some wear tank tops and cargo pants. Some are in oxfords with popped collars and tailored pants with perfect cuffs.
Kate spies the bathroom hall past the dancefloor and an adjoining lounge with pool tables and video games. “Ooh.” She clasps hands. “They have Centipede. Let’s play.”
Anita hooks her arm. “Hold on, Ferris Bueller, I need a cocktail.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And um, we’re not hiding in an arcade. I intend to busteth a move.”
“No one says that anymore.”
“I says it.”
The bartender in a tight pinstripe vest, her breasts ready to spill out, leans across the rail. “What can I get you lovely ladies?”
Anita taps nails on the bar counter. “Vodka gimlet and a cosmo for junior here.”
The couple next to them is having a squabble. One is kissing the other’s neck, trying to make up for flirting with the pole dancer.
“If you’re going to stare,” Anita whispers at Kate with a spitty hiss, “try to be less obvious.”
Kate raises hands. “Well, you just don’t see that every day.”
“It is kinda adorable.”
“Yeah.” Not to mention vaguely tingle-inducing.
The drinks arrive, and Kate claps. “I’ve always wanted to try one of these.” She gingerly slides the iced pink drink from the bar top and takes a sip.
“Well?” Anita asks and knocks back a slug of her cloudy lime cocktail.
“I think she accidentally poured me a glass of Pinesol,” Kate rasps.
“Yeah, it’s great isn’t it? You’ll be loose in no time.” Anita tips the bartender generously.
Kate peers around, a full scan of the room. On the drive to the city, Anita mentioned that “Liesl” was headed out to the bars tonight. But although Kate had already glimpsed a few of Lucy’s doppelgangers, the real thing was nowhere to be found. Maybe it had all been wishful blogging on Lucy’s part. “You sure this the right place?”
“This is the only bar left that has a lesbian night. Apparently, they’re all off having babies nowadays.” Anita stands on her tiptoes. “Could be she likes to show up late.”
“Or maybe she already went home with someone.”
“Well, forget Lucy. The point was to get the lay of the land. I’ll bet you dinner for four at Lagerheads you won’t be attracted to anyone.”
“You’ve already lost the bet.”
“Yeah, there is something affirming about this place. I could totally slum it. Hey.” Anita whirls around. “Let’s dance.” She grabs Kate’s arm.
“Whoa.” Kate carefully balances the glass as Anita threads through the crowd.
God, Anita is so conspicuous. The trick is to play this as a joke, right? Because what mother of two would actually dance to this electronic hammering noise? But no one is watching them, the music providing an aural cover. Wait. There are a few, here and there, smirking from Anita to Kate as the two set down their drinks and walk onto the polished floor.
We could be your mothers. Look away. Look away. Cute though. Okay, let’s see. I suppose I could kiss that woman with the nose chain. Ooh, that lady looks too much like Claudia; that would be completely weird.
The room grows warm and close, scented with sweat and hair product. Kate slides into the groove. The cosmo hits bottom as the music thumps along, coaxing pelvic thrusts from even the most conservatively dressed. She fights that ridiculous urge with what’s left of her dignity and tries not to look too much like a hen scratching around. A few riot grrrls scoot away from them. Maybe she and Anita are doing this wrong. It’s certainly not the easiest thing to do with jeans too tight and a pair of Spanx under that. Fortunately the new push-up bra is doing its job, despite having appeared rather flimsy when she first put it on.
The club fills with even more women and the occasional male sidekick. After a second round of drinks and another shot at dance fever, a slow mix takes over.
Anita wanders to the opposite bar this time. She scoots a stool aside with her hip. “Oh, barkeep.”
“Just Diet Coke for me.” Kate stares wistfully at the game room. An hour passes and under the influence of two martinis it seems like fifteen minutes. “Can we play pool or something? I might need to learn that.”
“Meh.” Anita scoops up her drink and slurps at it as if parched. She scans the room. Her head juts from side-to-side to the beat and then locks to one side.
“Oohhh, yeaaah,” she sings baritone.
“What?”
“Look-at-the-door, look-at-the-door, look-at-the-doooor.”
Where the hell did they put the door again? Ah, Anita’s now facing away from it with bulging eyes, as if looking at it again might turn her to salt.
Kate looks past the crowd to the spot lit velvet curtain.
The woman stands there, gazing around. She’s no longer a ghost, or bleak, or Barbie; she is at maximum wattage, in tight cobalt cords, torn tunic, with shaggy blades of hair and thick eye makeup more West Hollywood than Clinique. All along the bar, heads turn and a few women scoot out their barstools but do not rise. One girl holds another back, giving the musician some space. But the stares keep at Lucy Veebee as she moves through the crowd.
Another woman with a blonde pixie cut follows behind her. She looks familiar, like one of the band. Kate recognizes her sardonic sneer from photos. Apparently it is permanent. The woman’s thumbs furiously type into her smartphone.
Kate gulps. There’s a heart in her chest somewhere, but it seems to have shriveled and dislodged. The music hammers at her ears. Anita nudges her, but Kate can do nothing but stand there frozen as if a wildcat were creeping by unawares.
Lucy and the blonde walk up to some young fans and she hugs each of them. The blonde leans back and holds her cellphone up. Lucy and one of the girls hold each other, cheek-to-cheek and smile into the flash of the cellphone camera. They all titter as the blonde photographs Lucy with all of them this way. The blonde departs to the bar, shaking her head, thumbs back to typing.
Anita laughs incredulous. “What do you wanna bet she’s been coming here every Saturday night before church?”
“Stay here, ’Nita. Don’t leave, okay?”
“Why would I do that?”
Kate pushes off the bar and maneuvers through the crowd. She can’t think of one clever thing to say. The young women clustered around Lucy glance at Kate, eyebrows raised. Awesome. She probably looks like the suburban housewife she is, judged somewhere between “sexless frump” at “trying too hard” in her push-up bra and baby-doll ombré blouse.
Lucy glances over her shoulder, directly into Kate’s cleavage. Her gaze rises to meet Kate’s eyes and she does a triple-take.
Kate smiles, mouth open, and rapidly waves.
Lucy turns away from the group, takes Kate’s arm, and walks her back to the bathroom hallway, lit crimson with bare red bulbs and painted brick.
“What are you doing here?” she asks calmly.
“What are you doing here?”
“Katie, did you follow me?”
“Anita figured out that this is where you’d be tonight. We know about your blog. Samantha told me. Just look at you.” Kate smiles coyly. “You’re back on brand.”
Lucy pulls the tunic shirt away from her chest and stares down at the hideous mug of Iggy Pop screen printed across it. “It’s hard to fight. What do you mean my blog? I never told Sam about a blog.”
“No. She and Jamie found it.”
Lucy squints, her head tilts. “Sorry? The band destroyed my right ear.”
“That’s your left.” Something flutters in Kate’s stomach. “I said, the girls found it. Blogging My Sojourn? Took me a while but I read every word. Your Daniel entry? My God, Luce. I’m so sorry about—”
“You got the wrong person.” Lucy walks toward the bar and signals the bartender. “Jack, straight.”
“Sojourn considers lying a sin I’ll bet,” Kate says. “Liesl? C’mon Luce. How obvious is that? And do I seriously look like a Vicky? Victoria?”
Lucy squints. “You sound kinda crazy right now.” She slaps down some bills, knocks back the shot, and smacks the glass down.
“Luce,” Kate stares frightened at the empty glass, “we can work this out. I don’t know how, but we can.” She slides it aside. “Without that.”
“I am working things out. I—I give all my problems to the Lord. It’s taking a while, but—but it’s gonna be fine.”
“C’mon, listen to yourself.” Kate shakes her head. “Luce. Just stop. Let it go.”
“This is so not right,” Lucy mutters and starts from the bar.
Kate grabs her arm and holds her there. “I’m sorry, Luce.” She wills Lucy to look at her, but she won’t. Lucy glowers at the ground like a petulant child. “But I’m also sorry for me. I missed you so much. You don’t know how hard I cried for you. How many times I thought about you over the years.”
Lucy continues to hang her head. “We were never—very close.” She tosses her shoulder. “Not like best friends or anything.”
“Close enough to fall in love.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how our bodies tricked us I guess.”
Kate leans closer, her lips brush Lucy’s ear. “I’m still tricked.”
For a moment, Lucy doesn’t move.
What did I just say? Oh God, there is no going back from this—
Lucy gently pulls away.
Maybe it’s time to let her go.
But Lucy doesn’t head for the door. Instead, she slinks backward, moving through the dancing crowd and into the flashing lights. Her nimble right arm outstretches, forefinger beckoning.
Kate’s feet give her no choice but to follow.
The rest of the dancers move fast, arms akimbo, flickering in the lights. But Lucy sways slowly, cutting the beat in half. Kate begins to dance too. She keeps a safe distance until Lucy speaks so quietly, Kate has to lean in.
“What?”
“I said, what perfume is that?” Lucy’s nose dips into Kate’s hair and her breath tickles. “It’s nice.”
“Really?” Kate yells. “I—I don’t know. Nothing. Sam used up all my perfume.”
“It’s good. Like lavender or something.” Lucy dances backward, her presence clearing a small quadrant of the dance floor.
“Oh. Yeah.” Kate follows and trips forward. “That’s um, Palmolive, aromatherapy.”
Lucy catches Kate’s nervous hands, pulls her close. “Just to confirm. Dish soap?”
“Yeah.” Kate’s forehead falls onto Lucy’s shoulder as she snorts out laughter.
Lucy’s body shudders in her arms; it feels orgasmic.
“Shut up,” Kate says.
“I’m sorry. You’re such a mom.” Lucy smooths her arms. “I love that.”
They lean into each other. This is the girl, this is the body Kate remembers. There’s no denying how wonderful it feels. How right the luxurious surge from foot to scalp. She pulls back a little and smiles. In these arms, a lost portion is found again, in the sultry warmth of her first love, the electricity in her touch. There are few things besides dancing which turn two into one. Dancing will have to do.
Kate feels Anita’s stunned stare from across the room. She twiddles her fingers in a wave over Lucy’s shoulder. Anita lifts her cocktail with a wry smile.
“What would Henry Cleaver say?” Kate asks.
“A girl’s gotta relax. Let her hair down.”
“This is my fault. All my fault.”
“It isn’t.” Lucy cranes her head back, holds Kate directly in her dark stare. “Whatever happens, don’t think that. You are a good person. Okay?”
“I give up, Luce. If you came back to torture me, mission accomplished.”
Lucy’s blonde friend dances in the space near them and holds up her smartphone, scanning the dance floor, landing briefly on them. Lucy stiffens, glaring at the woman, and shakes her head. The blonde looks Kate up and down with disgust and something that even resembles fear, then storms for the exit.
Lucy’s gaze follows the woman out. Then she smiles softly and murmurs in Kate’s ear, “I came back because you’re a psychic projector.”
“A mind reader?” God, it’s hard to have a lucid conversation so incredibly close to this woman.
“Psychic projectors don’t actually read minds.” Lucy moves them around the floor, her hands smoothing across Kate’s hands, entwining with them, pressing them onto her warm body. “But their thoughts are so powerful, average people sometimes read them like orders.”
Kate gulps. “Sounds like hypnotism.”
“Nope. The majority of psychic projectors don’t even know they’re doing it. That’s why it’s rarely been documented.”
“So I called you back here?”
Lucy shrugs, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe.”
“Sometimes I wish—” Kate cocks her head, searching for the words. Her cellphone buzzes in her back pocket.
“What do you wish?” Lucy runs her hand up Kate’s neck. “I’ll make it happen.”
“They’d have let us have one date. You know, something average, like dinner and a movie.” She pulls out her cellphone. “Ooh, this is Sam. I should take this. The girls are all alone in the house.” She reluctantly pulls out of Lucy’s arms and walks back to the bathroom hallway.
“What is it, honey—Sam, I can barely hear you. Are you all right? Well, can’t it wait? Yes, Lucy’s here. That’s none of your business. What the heck are you talking about? Gorillas? Just, stop it. Alright. I’ll ask her. I’m hanging up now. Jesus.”
Lucy leans on the wall, her head cocked to the side. “Everything okay?”
“Oh.” Kate rolls eyes. “Sam thinks you’re a Simian Avenger.” She laughs and pockets the cellphone, growling. “Ugh. Why I ever thought I could drive just twenty miles away from my family and expect to have my own night—just one night—clearly the delusion of a pathetic woman.”
Lucy looks away, licking lips.
“Lucy?” Kate stops. “Lucy?”
“Kate, you’re a Larson now. And you need to be ready,” she reaches out.
“Oh my God.” Kate’s mind reels as connections form, she squints as if it might help make sense of the past six months. She bats Lucy’s hand away. “Is that what all this is? You’re coming out to prove them wrong?”
“Yeah, but, there’s a lot more. Sojourn extorted a ton of—”
“I trusted you. Sam trusted you. Jamie—”
“Come on, I’d never hurt those girls.”
“This will hurt everybody.”
“I didn’t start this, Katie. They started this a long time ago.”
Kate’s chest shakes with mounting disappointment. “Why couldn’t you just let it go? You had such a great life.” She paces the hall, while others come in and out of the bathrooms gawking at them. She points at Lucy. “You’re a dick, you know that? This isn’t high school. You can’t just play games and be excused because your parents sucked.”
“Um, I was never excused.”
“You were until the fire,” Kate says. “You set it didn’t you?”
Lucy’s hand wanders up the brick wall, finding cracks, tracing them with her fingers.
“Oh, my gawd. I defended you.”
“Oh, no you didn’t.” Lucy sighs. “Okay, listen, you were a kid, so forget about that. Besides it wasn’t the fire, Katie. It was us that screwed me and you know it. And now everyone wants to pretend we never happened.”
“That’s true. They do. You know why? Because half of them are gone or dead and the other half are too old to care or don’t want to remember their mistakes. There’s only the two of us who even give it a second thought.”
“You still do?”
“You know I do. Dammit, Lucy. Shit.” Kate stalks out of the hall. Where the hell is Anita?
Anita is laughing with a group of women, a bit too loud, a bit too wobbly.
Kate takes her arm. “We have to go.”
“What? I thought—”
“Please now. I’ll drive.” She drags Anita clicking, stumbling, toward the curtain. Anita digs for her business card holder, handing out cards along the way.
Kate rips the curtain open.
Lucy is chasing the blonde from earlier down the hall. They are wrestling with something, a phone. “Please don’t do this,” she says to the woman.
The woman leers at Kate as she passes them. She’s actually quite pretty, with deep blue eyes.
“Kate. Wait, please.” Lucy puts one hand out at Kate, but turns back to the blonde. They wrestle for the phone again. “Would you give me that? I swear we are done if you do this.” It flies into the air, scrabbles across the floor.
“Dammit, Lucy,” the woman yelps.
Anita hiccups as they bang through the front doors. “Wow, catfight. Do you really need that kinda drama?”
“No. No. Definitely not.”
A fine mist has gathered, weighing down into rain. The night sky of Minneapolis glows amber. Kate piles Anita into the passenger seat, gets in, and familiarizes herself with the elaborate instrumentation.
There’s a tap on her window. It’s Lucy.
Kate starts the car. Lucy taps harder.
“Please, Katie,” comes her muffled voice.
Kate locates the window button and stabs it. “Stop calling me that.”
“Can we still get together and talk? I want to explain.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” She looks to Anita for assistance, but her friend has reclined and dozed off.
Lucy’s feathers have fallen from the rain. She reaches in, clasps Kate’s shoulder. A drop of water runs down her fingertips, past Kate’s collarbone, and between her breasts. “I’m sorry.”
Kate clutches the wheel for strength. Her knuckles turn pale. “Did you know . . . Sam’s birthday is the day after yours?”
Lucy lets go. “Whoa, really?”
“Yeah, by an hour. I tried, to push, to make her arrive in time. But she was big. Erik told me later that I was so out of it that I said—I said, I baked you a cake.” Kate’s voice quakes. “He thought I meant for him.”
Lucy’s eyes close, her mascara running like a gunpowder misfire. She swallows hard, wipes water from her face with her shoulder and looks away, toward the blonde woman glowering by the door.
“I would have named her after you if I could have,” Kate says.
Lucy stares into her. “Do you know how much that means to me?”
“She thinks you’re awesome, Lucy.” Kate punches the window button. “Don’t ruin it.”
B L O G G I N G M Y S O J O U R N
One Woman’s Journey from Gay to Straight
Well, I’ve failed this ex-gay thing, clearly. Despite what so many liberal psychologists and conservative Christians say, I’m not sure any good comes of turning yourself inside out and riffling around in your psyche or soul. But I gave it a shot, as I always do. I gave Sojourn a chance, albeit one from a biased perspective, but I stayed the duration.
Okay, just past graduation. But still. I wanted to see. I couldn’t help but look. I’d be Lot’s wife for sure.
Most people run for the basement when the funnel cloud drops. Me? I got to stand at the window. One of these days the glass is going to shatter.
Posted by Liesl ~ 8:00 AM ~ 2 comments
InChrist commented:
You’ve given up far too easily. Was this just a joke to you?
Liesl commented:
My heart wasn’t completely in it, if that’s what you mean. I wish you all the best, but this organization is going down. Pick up a USAToday and see for yourself.