“Are you ready for this?” Tyler turned her head to me as we came to a pause in front of the heavy wooden doors that led into the large conference room where the Pike Neighborhood Association met every quarter.
“Do not quote any Taylor Swift lines tonight, Tyler,” I warned her, already as she sang her question at me in the tune of one of Gaylor Swift’s songs. “We have to be very professional.”
She wasn’t having any of my shit tonight. “Uh, out of the two of us, I’m the consummate professional. That’s literally my entire vibe—stoic professional.”
I grinned. “Not in bed, it’s not.”
She pointed at me with one long index finger. “See?”
I put both of my hands up in defense. “Okay, I see your point. But I’m not worried. We’re going to kick their ass tonight.”
Tyler smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She gripped the messenger bag at her side that had all of our talking points and presentation pieces in it.
My fingers slid between hers, and I gave her a squeeze. “Seriously. We’ve got this.”
The smile tinged her irises now, and she nodded her head. “Let’s do this.”
I nodded. “Let’s do this.”
And so, we fucking did this.
But here’s what I wasn’t told in advance. When a neighborhood association only meets once a quarter, people come with shit to say—which, first of all, why? I swear I thought we’d be the only people in the audience, but there’s a line, and then a panel of…I don’t know. Board members? Elders? Kings and Queens of the Pike? Whoever they were, they had the final say over every matter presented at the lone microphone in the center aisle facing them. Half the time, they didn’t give an answer at all, but would say that the issue would be tabled for a vote at another time. The other half of the time, they took the vote right then and there in front of all of us, and they were not quiet about it. There were no hushed whispers as they came to a decision, but rather people just stood witness to being talked about openly until they were given a yay or nay on whatever they were proposing.
All of that would have been fine, or, well, at least tolerable. However, no one warned me that we would be well into hour three of this meeting, and our number still hasn’t been called. Three hours of Tyler elbowing me in the side to wake me up anytime my head started to lull backward as I couldn’t possibly take another moment of this monotonous soundtrack.
How the hell people had this much to talk about on one street was unbelievable.
“It’s our turn!” Tyler’s whispered warning came paired with a bang of her knee against mine. “Get up.”
I snorted out half a snore that had been about to escape my lips as the dream world called me. My head jolted upright. “What?”
“It’s our turn,” she repeated, now hissing as she was standing and motioning toward the center aisle.
I jumped to my feet and somehow beat her there. We walked to the microphone side-by-side, and she passed me a stack of index cards while she held a clipboard stuffed full of looseleaf paper. I glanced briefly at the index cards but her handwriting was color-coded in gel pen and had hearts dotting every “I,” so I immediately discarded them to my back pocket.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” I began, giving purposeful, and awkward, eye contact to each person on the panel in front of us. “My partner and I are from The Dirty Derby and—”
Tyler’s elbow hit my side again, and she cut me off. “We’re still workshopping the name.”
Are we, though?
“Anyway,” I continued, dodging the side eye she was giving me. “We’re leasing the retail space at the corner of Walter Reed Drive and Columbia Pike and turning it into a lesbian and queer bar that will also have a pro bono hair salon in the back. We just need a few signatures to confirm the neighborhood association is on board with this, and we’ll be out of your hair. I’m sure all you wonderful civil servants are ready to be home with your families—a glass of wine is waiting for you, am I right?”
One of the women on the panel chuckled lightly, and I could see she was already thinking about whether she was going to have a red or white.
The man sitting in the center didn’t seem as amused. “You’re opening a bar?”
“I’ve actually got our proposal and business plan here.” Tyler stepped up to the long table the members were sitting at and began distributing paper packets to each one. “As you can see, we’re already in the process of getting our liquor license, remodeling will all be completed by local neighborhood construction businesses, and we’re even partnering with A-SPAN to offer one day a month of free haircuts for the underhoused.”
Everyone just called it A-SPAN because it actually stood for Arlington Street People’s Assistance Network, and there was no one alive who wanted to say that sentence out loud. Thankfully, they were changing their name soon.
“What are you going to do about noise compliance after hours? There are a lot of high rises and similar residences within earshot of that location.” The man in the center wasn’t even bothering to read the papers that Tyler had handed him. “We owe it to our neighbors to keep quiet hours and not have raucous activity happening directly below their windows.”
“We’re across the street from a theater that has been operating for years and is very familiar with moving large crowds in and out at night without being a major disturbance.” Tyler shut his concerns down without hesitation, and the look on his face told me that didn’t happen often. Damn, this woman had balls. “And we’re contracting with Arlington Police to hire off-duty officers for overtime on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evenings to assist with traffic and security.”
He didn’t seem the least bit swayed but did stay quiet for a few minutes as other members on the panel asked about events, parking, and other relevant matters. Both Tyler and I answered each and every question fully, and I swear to God, this felt better than winning at pickleball. I was knocking this shit out of the park, and it was doing everything to stroke my confidence in being a near-future business owner.
“I’m concerned about the demographic a place like this would attract,” the man sitting center stage said after the woman to his right had finished her question about litter and maintenance of the sidewalks in front of the bar. “This neighborhood has a long history of upstanding citizens. The unruly type that would frequent that type of establishment could send the wrong message. Not to mention the pro bono aspect to it would probably bring vagrants sniffing around more often and sleeping on the benches in the park down the street. We have to consider the safety of our neighbors and children in allowing that type of exposure.”
Tyler didn’t respond immediately, so I stepped closer to the microphone. “Can you clarify what you mean when you say ‘that type of exposure’?”
I knew exactly what he meant.
He began to fidget in his seat and looked away, like the answer might be written on the wall behind me. “I’m not saying anything negative. I’m just pointing out that it caters to a crowd that isn’t exactly family-friendly.”
Not family-friendly? He meant to say “gay.”
“Actually, we plan to do plenty of family-friendly and dry events during the day, especially to give queer teens a place where they can feel at home and accepted if they don’t have that elsewhere.” I took Tyler’s hand in mine, interlacing our fingers. “My girlfriend and I can’t wait to be able to bring a safe space to queer folx all over Northern Virginia to find community, love, and, maybe, a good drink. If you’re over twenty-one, of course.”
His gaze dropped to our hands, and the discomfort was visible in his expression. “We’ll have to vote on this, you understand. It’s a big decision.”
“We understand,” Tyler replied, her diplomatic tone back in full force even though she was clutching my fingers so tight I thought they might fall off. “Are there any other questions we can answer to help assuage any concerns?”
“I think we’ve heard enough.” He turned to the other members on the panel and proposed a vote, someone seconded taking a vote, and then they polled each member individually for a yay or a nay. Literally while we were standing right there watching them, and they avoided making eye contact with us at all costs.
“Well, that decides it, then.” The man turned back to face us and adjusted the lapels on his suit jacket. “Three in favor and two opposed. Your proposal is provisionally approved for a one-year term, but it will need to be revisited in the next fiscal year and pass the county requirements and inspections before granted. We’ll also be holding another vote next meeting to determine guidelines on noise compliance, security, parking constraints, and traffic control that you will be required to follow.”
Tyler somehow squeezed my hand even tighter, and her voice cracked with a high-pitched squeak. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you to everyone who supported our proposal,” I followed up, because the two opposing votes had been the man in the center and a smaller balding man to the right side, and I was not thankful for either of them. He picked up on my nuance immediately, raising a single brow in protest. “We really appreciate your faith in us and can’t wait to show you what an asset The Dirty Derby will be to this neighborhood.”
“Again, we’re still workshopping the name,” Tyler added. “Thank you so much for your time.”
She was pulling me away from the microphone, and I knew she didn’t want to risk me saying anything else.
Fair.
We passed through the double doors and back out into the hallway where one or two people were lingering, looking half asleep and like they were waiting for someone inside to be done so they could go home.
The moment we got on the elevator and the doors closed, Tyler and I turned to each other and let out juvenile squeals.
“We’re approved!” she said, punching her fists in the air.
I clapped my hands and did a little body roll and wiggle. “We’re going to be business owners! We’re going to be bar owners!”
“Queer bar owners—just lesbians everywhere as far as the eye can see,” she teased, stepping closer to me and hooking a finger in one of the belt loops on my jeans. “Imagine the possibilities.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Ms. Adams? Because that is not going to work. I’m more than fine with us bringing some guests home to join us.”
Her eyes widened like she’d never considered the possibility before but was not entirely opposed. “Oh…”
“That’s not a no,” I joked before placing a kiss against her lips.
She grinned, kissing me back before the elevator doors opened, and we both stepped out onto the lower ground floor. “You know, you called me your girlfriend in there.”
I didn’t meet her gaze when she said that but just offered a noncommittal shrug. My stomach suddenly felt like it was flipping over in my abdomen, and something inside me just wanted to walk back every word I’d ever said. Now that the business was a definite—the bar was absolutely happening—everything between us romantically suddenly felt über serious. I’d been here before—rushing into things was my forte, and messing around with someone I worked with had never benefited me in the past. I had promised myself I wasn’t going to keep repeating that cycle. Yet, here I was.
“Well, yeah,” I said, trying to find my words. “We said we’d pretend for your dad, and he’s probably going to hear about this vote and stuff. Better to keep the ruse going, you know?”
She didn’t respond to that, and the way she pushed open the glass door, with a little too much force, before we exited onto the sidewalk told me everything she was feeling.
Shit.
“Tyler,” I called after her, but she didn’t turn around. My cell phone began to vibrate in my pocket, and I fished it out as I followed her toward the car. I doubted she’d leave me behind—no matter how mad she was—because we had carpooled there.
The number on my cell phone screen wasn’t one I recognized, but I decided to answer it anyway. “Hello?”
“I’m trying to reach Yasmeen Kiani,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “You’re listed as the tenant of this retail space.”
I felt my gut clench in anticipation. “What retail space?”
He listed off the address of the bar. “Ma’am, I hate to tell you this but we’ve had a pipe burst in the ceiling while we were working on updating the hair washing sinks in the back. You’d better get down here, because we’re going to need someone who is authorized to make decisions on budgetary alterations.”
I groaned audibly, not caring that he could hear my frustration. “I’ll be right there. Give me ten minutes. Thanks.”
Shoving the phone back in my pocket after hanging up, I picked up my speed and jogged a little faster after Tyler. “Hey, Tyler! We have to go to the bar!”
She paused her stride for half a second, long enough for me to catch up. “Why?”
I exhaled loudly, trying to catch my breath after chasing her down. I really needed to consider restarting my gym membership. “Contractor just called. There’s a burst pipe in the back room.”
She looked as frustrated as I felt. “I’ll drive.”