“Okay, it’s your call.”
“Please have my back,” Joy said.
“I always do,” Angela said.
Carol was surprised to see them. “I know it’s weird I’m here, but I had to see it for myself,” Carol said apologetically like she was embarrassed to be there gazing upon her demise.
“We came to see the mural because, well, you know,” Joy stammered.
“You wanted to see the woman who broke my heart,” Carol said.
“We did,” Joy said.
“What she did to you is horrid,” Angela said vehemently.
“I’m so glad you all are here. I thought I could do it on my own. It turns out I can’t. I’m feeling a bit weak in the knees,” Carol said.
Debra was coming their way. Angela tugged on Carol’s arm. “Let’s go get a drink.”
“I know a great microbrewery around the corner or there’s that wine bar. Whichever you’d prefer,” Joy said, taking her arm and looping it through Carol’s.
Debra called out Carol’s name.
“Keep walking,” Carol said, her voice firm.
Debra caught up with them and stopped them when she darted in front of them. “Carol, let me explain. I had to do it. My art has always come first. You knew that.”
“I didn’t agree to be your art. Is that why you left me? So that you would have something to paint for one of your murals—you needed the pain and agony to help you break through to the big time? Go you,” Carol said angrily.
“No, I didn’t,” Debra said.
“I’m the reason she left,” said a tall woman with blonde hair. Evidently, Debra preferred blonds.
“Who the fuck are you?” Angela said. She was really taking up for Carol. Joy was delighted. She didn’t have the necessary chutzpah to make a scene. Angela felt no such compunction.
“Let me guess, you’re my replacement,” Carol said hotly.
“I came later,” the woman said. “She fell out of love a long time ago, as you can see.” She pointed at the mural. “I didn’t do that. You did.”
Carol looked ready to spring. She cocked her head, squeezed her lips flat, and controlled herself. She looked at the woman. “Best beware, or you will end up in a mural,” she said.
“I’d be honored,” the woman said.
“Not when she dumps you,” Carol retorted.
“Annie, let’s go,” Debra said, taking the woman’s hand.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want a brawl or anything,” Angela said, taking a threatening step toward the woman.”
Annie took a step back.
“Good to see you, Carol,” Debra had the nerve to say.
Before anyone had a chance to do anything, Carol slapped Debra across the face. “Fuck you,” she said.
Angela clapped. “Well done.”
“I suppose I deserved that,” Debra said, touching her cheek.
“Yes, you did,” Carol said. She stalked off. Angela and Joy followed. Angela said over her shoulder, “Stay the hell away from her.”
They caught up to Carol, who was crying and making her way through the crowd. “Carol, wait,” Joy called out.
Carol stopped. She wiped at her eyes. “Thank you for that. It’s nice to have someone on my side.”
“We’re here for you,” Angela said fiercely.
“I like you already,” Carol said, looping her arms through Angela’s and Joy’s arms. It felt like they were the Three Musketeers.
“Let’s get a drink,” Angela said.
Joy was relieved that Carol had pulled herself together by the time they got to the bar. Angela would regale them with stories and for a little while Carol’s problems would disappear in a fog of alcohol. Humanity’s gift to the bereft.
They walked into the microbrewery and ordered a round of samplers. A bright-faced, freckled, redheaded girl took their order.
“Keep them coming,” Carol instructed her. Which was a weird request as it was a beer sampler tray. The young woman didn’t blink an eye.
“No driving,” said the girl in her Midwestern accent. Her name tag read Trish.
“Nope, we are carless,” Angela said.
“Good for you,” Trish said happily.
If only we could all be so bright and happy, Joy thought.
“I know you’re upset right now, but I have a few failure stories under my belt that I’m going share because it’ll make you laugh and I want you to feel better,” Angela said.
“She’s very good at it,” Joy said.
Their sampler trays arrived. “Party on, ladies,” Trish said.
“Can she be any more innocent?” Angela said. She sighed. “If only I were ten years younger,” she said, pining for the barkeep.
“Tell her about Ant Woman,” Joy said, taking a drink of something way too strong to be beer—a stout, stout. “And I’m not talking as in Aunty, I mean ants.”
“Oh, no, not Connie. Poor Connie,” Angela said.
“Did you break her heart?” Carol asked. She’d gone through of three of the small beer glasses.
“Not exactly. She threw me out because I didn’t respect her ants,” Angela said, her lips curled into a smile at the corners.
Joy giggled.
“Okay, this has to be a good one. I must hear it,” Carol said.
“It started with a coffee date gone awry. She didn’t mention her ants until the fourth dinner date. We were taking it slow. And for the record, that is not my style. She was very hot. I should’ve known better than to sleep with her. After dinner we got drunk and sexual. It wasn’t until the next morning that I discovered all the ants. It started with me waking up, rolling over, and seeing an ant farm on the nightstand. I should’ve run then but she was up and fixing coffee.”
“Can you guess what kind of coffee mug it came in?” Joy teased.
“An ant mug,” Carol said.
“All the mugs had ants on them as I discovered later. It was insane. Who likes ants?” Angela said. She downed one of her sampler glasses. She winced.
“I have always considered them pests,” Carol said, adjusting herself on the barstool. Joy wondered if they should get a table before Carol fell off of it. Joy didn’t want to yuck up Carol’s yum (an Angela euphemism for bringing burdensome reality into a good time) by making them quit drinking and get off the barstools.
“Not ant lovers,” Angela said. “I guess there’s a whole wide world where people have ant farms as a hobby and this woman was one of them. If only she wasn’t so hot and good in bed. But the ants…they were a deal breaker.”
“Tell her about the ant playground,” Joy prodded.
“Oh, shit, I forgot about the ant playground. She had tubes that the different kinds of ants would move to different locations. There were tubes everywhere. It was an ant house. Seriously, she transferred the ants to a daytime location where they played so they didn’t get bored in their captive environment. I made the mistake of saying that ants should be free range, not in a farm. She had me out of there so fast.”
“You mean to tell me she threw you out because of ants?” Carol said. She downed the last of her sampler glasses.
“She had a lot of ants,” Angela said, following Carol’s advice and drinking her last one. “Another round, here,” Carol said to barkeep. She sounded like a professional bar-goer. Carol didn’t look the type, but tonight was a special occasion—the death of love and the discovery of the replacement. Nothing is harder on the heart if it’s true love and for Carol it was true love.
“Tell her about Emoticon Woman,” Joy said. She drank her third of five sampler glasses.
“You know, I didn’t think beer could taste so good.” She sipped the first glass instead of gulping it. Joy was relieved. She knew she’d be taking care of Carol tonight, and probably Angela, too at this rate. She was glass for glass with Carol. Joy would have to be the responsible one.
“Yes, please tell me about this emoticon girlfriend of yours,” Carol said.
“Her name was Barbara
and she spoke in the hieroglyphics of emoticons. She was big into texting and she texted with all these hearts if she was happy, poop emoticons when she wasn’t. Think of all the random emoticons floating around out there and then try to figure out what the hell she was saying. It was too hard. She was too high-maintenance for me,” Angela said.
She regaled them with stories of the Angry Sculptress. Angela had stayed with her the longest, and consequently she had more stories. The angry sculptress followed in the footsteps of Judy Chicago and made dinnerware shaped like vaginas—you had to eat around the vulva. Some would perceive it as poor taste. She was angry because no one bought them, yet she kept making them. It was a case of the snake eating its own tail, and nothing Angela suggested was taken lightly and without an epic argument over the merits of making your truth in art or working within the confines of what the consumer is willing to pay.
***
Angela and Carol weaved through the front door of the apartment.
Joy helped put Carol to bed. They’d taken a cab home, not trusting Carol on public transport. She had been three sheets to the wind when they left the microbrewery where Carol tried one of each off the sampler menu, stating the fact that she intended to get drunk and morose.
Angela guaranteed she could keep Carol’s mind away from the island of lost love with tales of her own relationship history and she had. Carol had laughed more than she cried.
Angela sat on the couch. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked.
“I think so. She’ll have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Why don’t you spend the night?” Joy said, concerned about Angela maneuvering transportation in her inebriated state.
“Not on that white couch, I’m not.”
“Then sleep with me,”
“I’m not that kind of girl,” Angela said.
“Not that,” Joy said.
“Why haven’t we ever slept together?” Angela wasn’t as drunk as Carol, but she had the confessional drunk vibe going where often things are best left unsaid.
“Because it would ruin a perfectly good relationship. We’d break up and then whose shoulder would I cry on? Joy stated.
“Friends are better,” Angela said. “In our case.”
“In our case.”
Chapter Eleven
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Carol said, handing her a cup of coffee.
Carol looked peppy compared to how Joy felt. Joy had rolled over in her bed to discover Angela was already gone. She found Angela chatting amiably with Carol in the kitchen. Angela was drinking coffee and next to her cup was a glass of green liquid.
Carol looked lovely as always. Joy recalled that as she had put Carol to bed, Carol had touched Joy’s face and told her that she was a good friend. Joy’s heart had surged like a wave gaining power before it hit the shore. Carol was the shore.
The feeling had passed by morning. Joy knew she wasn’t the kind of woman Carol fell for. Besides it would be a mess with the dynamics of being roommates. Someone would have to move out when they broke up, and of course with a woman like Carol, she’d be the one to move out, leaving Joy bereft in a stew of memories and regrets. Roommates were better.
She wondered if the same was true of Angela. She and Carol were chummy last night by the time they were mid-evening drunk. Of course, Angela wasn’t in Carol’s league either. Someone like Carol loved an exotic woman like Debra. Joy began to understand that for as much as Carol had fiercely loved Debra, she now hated her with same ferocity.
Angela broke Joy’s ruminations. “You’ve got to try this miracle hangover remover. Once you get past the color it’ll fix you right up,” Angela said, her tone chirpy.
How was it that Joy had the worst hangover and these two looked no worse for the wear? She needed that miracle drink. “I’ll give a try. I feel rotten.”
Carol patted her shoulder. “I feel like I’m responsible for that. I want to thank you two for getting me through last night. It was rough.”
“Been there, done that. Remember the angry sculptress? I found her in bed with another woman and she had the nerve to tell me that artists were not good at monogamy and that I shouldn’t feel like this threatened our relationship at all. What the fuck. Right?” Angela said.
“I always wondered if Debra cheated on me. She was a big fan of Diego Rivera and he cheated on Frida Kahlo. He told her it meant nothing,” Carol said. She sipped her coffee and appeared to be mulling over this piece of information. “I hope it was after me and not with me. That would truly break my heart,” she said quietly.
Only Debra knew the truth.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Angela said, touching Carol’s shoulder.
“It does matter. If she cheated on me, I’ll kill her,” Carol said, slamming her coffee cup down on the table. Liquid covered the tabletop. Joy leapt up and retrieved a paper towel.
“Murder is kind of permanent. You might want to rethink that,” Angela said cautiously.
As if summoned from the graveyard of lost love, the doorbell rang.
“Friend of yours?” Angela asked.
“I don’t have any friends,” Carol said morosely. “They were all Debra’s.”
“I’ll get it,” Joy said.
She got up and went to the door, her curiosity piqued. She opened the door. Debra, in all her gloriousness and regality, stood before her. She was a lot taller than Joy had noticed last night. The only word to describe her was statuesque. “Where is she?” Debra asked.
Joy toyed with her despite being fearful. “Who?”
“Carol, that’s who,” the woman said angrily.
“Debra?” Carol said from behind Joy. “How did you find me?”
“I have my ways. Why did you cancel my credit card? Do you have any idea how embarrassing to get all my paint mixed and discover I can’t pay for it? I had to get April to pay for it and now I owe her money,” Debra said.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why would I continue to pay your bills? You left me, as I recall,” Carol said hotly. “Is Annie or April, or whatever her name is, the woman you left me for?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Debra said.
“I’d bet my life you were sleeping with her before you told me you didn’t love me anymore,” Carol said.
“It wasn’t like that,” Debra said.
“You’re lying,” Carol said.
“You need to leave,” Joy said.
Debra took a hard look at Carol. “I did love you.”
“You have an interesting way of showing it. I hope your new love has a credit card you can use because I’m done supporting you. Now go away,” Carol said. She slammed the door in Debra’s face.
“Good for you,” Joy said heartily.
Carol burst into tears.
Joy took her in her arms. “It’s going to be all right. Angry is good.”
“I’m more than angry. I hate her. I hate her for making me feel useless and normal.”
Carol pulled away, embarrassed.
“Well, she’s got quite the nerve,” Angela said, putting her arm around Carol’s shoulders. “Good riddance, I say.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Carol said. “I have to get ready for work.” She strode off and shut her bedroom door firmly behind her as if it was the exclamation on the end of a sentence that brokered no response.
“That went sour quickly,” Angela said. “We were having a good talk.”
Joy wondered if Angela had a thing for Carol. It wouldn’t be the first time Joy had stepped aside so that Angela might get the girl. Joy hoped she wouldn’t do it when the right woman came along. Joy was sick of her ‘everything but the girl’ life because that’s where her life was headed, and it looked like the drought had no end. She was tired of the single life. Having Carol helped, but it wasn’t the same as falling into your lover’s arms at the end of the day, whispering “I love you” and kissing her softly good night.
“Let’s go get a nice greasy breakfast. I don’t
have a client until one,” Joy said.
“And I still have time before I have to do Ms. Frumpy Pants. I swear if she wasn’t already in her eighties I’d scream every time I have to turn her hair into a football helmet. I use more Aqua Net on her hair than I do the rest of the day. Her hair is bulletproof when I’m done with it,” Angela said.
“Come on, I need some hash browns and bacon,” Joy said.
***
They walked to the diner with Angela peppy from the miracle cure and Joy lagging because she had been unable to drink a green smoothie. It was disgusting. Angela gulped it down, making it look easy.
Their usual waitress, a short, round woman who also had bulletproof hair, Thelma, took their orders and put a carafe of coffee on the table between them. “Many thanks,” Joy said to her.
“If you don’t mind me saying you look rode hard this morning,” Thelma teased.
“Believe me, I feel it,” Joy said.
Thelma chuckled. “I’ll be back right quick with you all’s order.”
“Great,” Angela said, looking perky.
Joy poured them both coffee and added cream and sugar to hers. Angela took hers black. Angela had a stomach like a rock that refused to erode with time. She ate everything and in abundance
“Tell me about your conversation this morning,” Joy asked, trying not to burst with curiosity like an overfull balloon.
“It was interesting. She told me about how she got the store started.”
That was not the confession she had hoped for. Carol fascinated her and that was concerning. Carol was her roommate... her attractive roommate. Joy chastised herself for thinking such a thing. Wasn’t that what bothered Carol the most—being judged on the basis of her looks, being treated differently because of it? And here she was, enamored with this beautiful woman.
“The more I learn of Carol’s life the more brilliant she seems,” Joy said.
“I know, right? She’s like a genius,” Angela said exuberantly. “So anyway, she’s going to help me set up my own shop if I can get backing. I need a business plan, a proposed site, and the necessary skill... like how Carol had her textile degree. Well, I have big ideas for how my own shop would be. I want more high-end traffic. If I can get the money, I can do it.”
Everything but the Girl Page 8
