by Harper Bliss
“Melissa.” Jill walks away from the sideboard, to the dining table. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
It sounds more like: shouldn’t you be leaving now?
I know better than to ask more questions about the mystery woman. Although I feel like lingering at Jill’s gorgeous apartment a while longer—when sober, I feel so calm and balanced in her presence—I don’t want to overstay my welcome.
Before I leave, I have to keep myself from asking if we’re still on for dinner sometime soon, but I swallow that question as well. I came here to apologize, after all, not to relentlessly push my luck.
12
Jill
I’m not sure why Ali would be so drawn to Melissa’s picture, unless she has a secret gift for sniffing out people’s weaknesses. I’ve tried putting the picture away, but it never made me feel any better. On the contrary. It’s as though I get satisfaction from punishing myself a little by the sight of her every day—every single time I walk into the living room. That frame has been placed in that spot to catch the maximum amount of attention. Usually, I’m the only one here, though.
Then there was the way Ali looked at me at times, the unintended sparkle in her glance undoing her words of apology. I was more convinced of how sorry she was about kissing me before she turned up at my house.
But I have to take my share of the responsibility as well. Grandiose as it may sound, I’ve come to believe my presence elicits something in her. It sparks a feeling that has been missing. Perhaps I’m the one who should keep my distance.
I think all of this as I stare at Melissa’s picture. It was taken near the end of our affair. Sometimes, I bring the photo close to my face and examine it, looking for the signs that she had already stopped loving me in the tilt of her head, the pull of her lips. But I can’t see it. Not now and certainly not then.
I glance at the chair in which Ali sat and an unbearable jumpiness comes over me, an unrest crawling underneath my skin. I need to get out of the house. There are a few places I can go where I won’t feel so alone—or should I say lonely?
Insignificant in the grand scheme of things it may be, but one thing Ali’s kiss has reminded me of, is exactly how long it’s been since a woman pressed her lips against mine. Eighteen months. I don’t know where the time has gone since then. I’ve been working more, perhaps. As Jeffrey’s health has declined, my responsibilities have grown. But still. I bet it hasn’t been eighteen months since Jeffrey was last kissed.
The thought of that reminds me of Ali’s question, which was, in hindsight, extremely inappropriate, yet still understandable. She knows her father and she knows how some women in the company were fast-tracked through promotions, only to be given a generous golden handshake once Jeffrey got fed up with them. For that reason, I can’t begrudge her the question. But I like to think Jeffrey has always respected me enough to keep himself from trying anything.
Because I know I’ll be drinking, I order a car to pick me up. While I wait, I consider changing into something more glamorous, but it would only make me feel less like myself, which is not how I want to feel when on the prowl.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m on my way to one of my favorite bars. When I first moved to L.A. there were a few lesbian bars left. I’ve witnessed their demise one by one—not that I frequented any of them regularly. Dolly’s is not a lesbian bar, but it’s as close as it’s going to get in this town. It’s also a place where I know I can walk in, no questions asked, and sit by the bar, nursing a drink for as long as I like. And sometimes, I even get lucky. It hasn’t been eighteen months since I was last here—and the last time I got lucky, wasn’t here either. So maybe my chances for tonight are slim. But that’s okay. At least I’m doing something that’s not work or sitting at home waiting for a miracle.
Cindy, the owner of Dolly’s, greets me with a familiar nod of the head. In the back, a few women are playing pool. Along the bar, all stools are empty except one. I sit on the one as far removed from the other patron as possible.
As I order, I think of the fancy bourbon cocktails I had with Ali last week. There’s none of that here. Just bourbon neat or on the rocks.
I place my order and sit, minding my own business. I sit and I wait for something to happen. Once in a while, someone heads to the bar to order some drinks, but nothing else is going on.
The first shot of bourbon relieves the sting of my depressing calculation to eighteen months ago. Her name was Annette. I met her at a cocktail party thrown by one of the shareholders. We ended up in a hotel in mid-town and I try to remember the exact blend of circumstances that made that happen. I’m not one to mix business with pleasure like that, but perhaps, once in a while, even I have no choice.
The second shot of bourbon makes me relive something else. And because of that—because of the sensation of Ali’s lips against mine—I order a third shot immediately. Three is always my hard limit, so I savor the last one, while I inwardly berate myself for even thinking about it. It didn’t happen, I repeat to myself. But my subconscious doesn’t agree. It keeps pushing up new snatches of memory, tiny events it has held on to. First, the surprise when she bent herself toward me, towering over me, really, with her long frame. The scent of flowers coming from her hair. But mostly, and again and again, the softness of her lips. Even though wholly unexpected, there was nothing insistent about the kiss. It was only gentle and probing, as though she was merely trying something out on a whim.
Only until I’ve finished my third shot of bourbon do I allow myself these thoughts. After that, the only appropriate reaction to them is disgust. This is not a memory to rejoice in. The reasons for that are myriad and I repeat them in my head like a mantra: too young; too damaged; too much the boss’s daughter. It’s a no-brainer, yet my brain doesn’t seem to agree that much.
Once it’s clear to me that no one is going to turn up whose affections I can win for the night, I pay my bill, and go home, where there’s no one, and nothing waits for me, except more memories of that kiss.
13
Ali
What’s driving me crazy is that I was the one who said to Jill we shouldn’t tell anyone. It makes sense that we don’t, seeing as we’re treating the incident as though it never happened. But ever since I told her that, all I want to do is confide in Madison.
Yesterday morning, when I found her sleeping on the couch downstairs, I was still so groggy, the memory hadn’t even properly made its way to the forefront of my mind yet. Though it soon caught up with me. Thoughts of Jill’s face, that pouty mouth, the deep, kind wells of her eyes, popping out of nowhere, until, through the haze of my hangover, the memory crystallized into a moment of pure torment. Had I really done that? Where on earth had I found the nerve? All I could think of was to call Jill and apologize to her as profusely and as quickly as possible.
I had to sit through brunch with Madison first while my house was being cleaned. As usual on a hungover Sunday, we went to Grizzly’s, where, since she’s been a regular on television, we can always get a table without me having to explicitly say my name.
Then Madison went on and on about Jill. At first I couldn’t believe it, especially because of the briefness of their interaction, but then I began to accept her sudden infatuation as reality, because I had ended up kissing her myself in my bedroom.
Earlier, Jill didn’t as much as flinch when I told her about Madison not being able to shut up about her. It’s probably not even a blip on her radar. Maybe she was too busy processing that her boss’s daughter had kissed her to pay it much mind. Surely, Jill has far greater worries that need her attention.
Now, I feel that if I don’t tell anyone about this soon, I might explode—or worse, the information might explode out of me at a very inopportune moment. I imagine the kiss growing in importance in my mind because of its secrecy and inappropriateness. Growing and growing to such proportions that I can no longer contain it within myself, and, so help me God, blurt it out to Sebastian, of all people, in an ung
uarded moment.
That can never happen. Being thirty-five, maybe I should be mature enough to keep this to myself and have it blow over. And, despite the persistent memory and the gnawing it does in the back of my brain, resist the urge to tell anyone. Because it meant nothing.
But I know myself. I’ve always been a talker. I told Leah everything—and vice versa. We had no secrets, even throughout our teens, when we did try to keep them, but they never held because we could always tell when one of us wasn’t being completely forthcoming about something. Leah was the first person I told that I liked girls. I was the first person she told about Jimmy Lieberman kissing her in the janitor’s closet at school when we were fourteen.
Madison is as close to replacing Leah as I’ll ever come. I can’t imagine telling anyone else. For all the people who were happy to turn up for my party last night, there was only one of them I trusted to look out for Jill.
So, instead of going home, I drive to Madison’s house. I try to remember if she had plans, but knowing her, she’ll be catching up on her beauty sleep after last night’s debauchery. We’re not in our twenties anymore, and she has more than once earned herself a sneer from the make-up artists on set because of her poor complexion on Monday mornings.
I walk around the house to the back garden and find her dozing in a lounge chair by the pool. Lester, her dog, has assumed the almost exact same position in a neighboring chair.
“Wakey-wakey,” I whisper.
Madison pulls one eye open. “Ali? Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just checking in on you.”
“Why?” She pushes herself up. Lester jumps off his chair to sniff my legs.
With a sigh, I sit where Lester was just napping. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sounds ominous.” She sits up a little straighter.
“It’s nothing serious. But something I thought you should know.”
“What? Ali? You’re being all mysterious. You know I hate that.”
“I didn’t have the heart to tell you this morning, but, um… Last night, I kissed Jill.”
“Jill Gold? Your boss?” Madison blinks a few times.
I nod.
“Oh come on. And you let me go on and on about her.” She juts out her lower lip. “Why did you let me do that?”
“I was still processing.”
Madison sighs. “Tell me everything.” Her shoulders sag a little.
“There’s not that much to tell. Clearly, it was a mistake. I was drunk and we were talking about Leah in my room and before I knew it, I had my lips on hers. It certainly wasn’t premeditated. It came completely out of the blue, even for me.”
“Damn, Ali. What did she say?”
“She told me off and then she left.”
“How did that make you feel?” Madison’s eyes have grown a little wider.
“The whole thing confused the hell out of me. So I went to see her earlier and apologized. What else could I do? I told her it was a mistake, of course. A moment of complete lack of judgment. We agreed to, basically, pretend it never happened.”
“I can’t believe you kissed her,” Madison says. “What was it like? The kiss itself, I mean?”
“It was so… fleeting. So quick.” If that was the case, I have to ask myself, then why can’t I shut up about it?
“What did she say when you went to see her?”
“I think she forgave me for it. She forgave me for making her come to my party as well.”
Madison tilts her head. “She didn’t have to come.”
“I think I may have made it sound as though she really did.”
“Still… Maybe, she didn’t mind you kissing her all that much.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not possible.”
“Maybe in your head it’s not.”
“Stop it, Mads. I have to work with her tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you interning at various departments?”
“Yes. Thank goodness for that.” As much as I dislike my short internships, because not many of my father’s employees have the balls to give me actual interesting work to do, tomorrow, I will be glad for them.
“You could also not turn up. What’s the worst that will happen?”
“I can’t do that.” I haven’t told Madison about my father wanting to appoint me as the next CEO. I’m under strict orders to tell no one who hasn’t been told directly by my father or Jill. Although I could tell Madison. She has kept far worse secrets for me. “My dad,” I start. “He wants certain things for me at LB. I need to be there and Jill is mentoring me.”
“Since when do you care what Lennox Sr. thinks of you?” Madison reaches for a bottle of water and sips from it.
“It’s complicated.” I decide not to tell her just yet.
“Then you’ll just have to suck it up.” She squints at me. “Do you want to go out? Have a few beverages and see what happens?”
“God, no,” I groan. “Besides, don’t you have an early call time tomorrow?”
“Nope. I don’t have to be on set at all tomorrow. So if you do decide to ditch work, we can hang out all day.” She reaches out her hand. I take it in my mine.
“I guess I’m growing more responsible with age.” And I couldn’t bear the disappointed look in Jill’s eyes if I turned up at work hungover again.
14
Jill
It’s been one of those days where, from the moment I set foot in my office, I don’t know where the time has gone. By the time I get ready to leave at eight, more exhausted than usual, I realize I haven’t seen Ali all day. This afternoon, I asked Linda to check if she was in and she was—following around Ramon in the marketing department. Another person I need to check in with. But it’s too late now. Ramon will have gone home and, frankly, I don’t much feel like asking people about how Ali’s doing. She has upended my life enough since her father brought her back to head office—and not just my professional life.
I blame Ali for the lingering dull ache throbbing at the back of my skull since I woke up this morning. I shouldn’t have gone to Dolly’s last night. I got nothing out of it apart from a hangover I really didn’t need on a Monday. And a growing sense of loneliness.
Or maybe it was being reminded of Melissa—by Ali asking questions about her. When I got home from Dolly’s, I actually opened my laptop and had my fingers hovering over the keyboard, wanting to google her to see what she’s up to these days. It’s a temptation I’ve been able to resist for the past few years. Last I heard—and by that, I mean I gleaned from a deep-dive internet search—Melissa is married with children and living in Westchester. I did resist in the end. I was already feeling so down in the dumps, I didn’t need to see photos of my ex with her perfect wife and children.
But Ali somehow planted the seed. She made me think of something I’m usually so good at avoiding because I’ve built my life to make it easy to do so.
“Knock, knock.”
I flinch at the sound of her voice.
“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you, Jill.”
“I was just lost in thought.” I zip up my bag. It’s thick with papers I’m taking home to review.
“Off home?”
“What can I do for you?” I make sure my voice sounds like I’m her boss.
“I just wanted to make sure we’re good. That there are no hard feelings or any lingering discomfort.”
“We’re fine,” I say curtly. “Although I would appreciate you not mentioning any of this at work.”
Every single day, Ali’s been dressed in an impressive outfit that could come straight from the catwalk for business attire. It’s flamboyant, but still on the edge of appropriate. The blouse she’s wearing today has a wide ruffled collar and is so bright green it hurts my eyes.
“All right, Jill.” Ali seems to be completely herself again. “It’s our secret. But it’s important to me that we’re okay.”
“We’re okay.”
“Good,” she says.
“Fine,” I s
ay.
“What are you doing tonight?” she has the audacity to ask.
“Working.” I pat my over-stuffed bag.
“Does my father pay you enough for you to be working all the time?”
“He pays me plenty.”
“Still… I feel like you should relax more, Jill.”
“Ali.” I take my bag into my hand, indicating I’m ready to leave. “Is there anything else you need? I’d like to go, please.”
“By all means.” She steps aside, freeing the doorway.
“Thank you.” I wait for her to leave. It’s important for my dominance in this relationship, of which I feel I lose a little every time we interact.
“Mind if I walk out with you?”
Yes, I do very much mind is what I should say, but I don’t. Of course, I don’t. “Sure.” I gesture for her to lead the way.
We walk to the elevator in silence.
“The old man has gone for the day, has he?” she asks when we walk past her father’s office.
“Do you spend any time with him at home?” I’m suddenly curious.
“You mean at the house?” Ali’s words sound as though I’ve asked her the most improbable question ever.
“Yes. Do you have the occasional dinner or lunch or, I don’t know, cocktails?”
“Just me and my dad?” Ali scoffs. “Em, no. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”
The elevator doors open and we get in. I stand as far away from her as possible.
“What kind of relationship do you have?”
Ali arranges her face into a blank expression. “Honestly, I barely know the man.”
“But you have no problem coming to work for him?” I’m not sure why I’m pushing like this—why I want to see Ali out of balance. Maybe it’s nothing but a small act of revenge because she has knocked me off balance. Not just by kissing me, but by coming to my home, her presence there, somehow, still lingering.
