by Jae
A soft voice in the darkness said, “You still awake?”
“Yeah, I always have a hard time sleeping in a strange bed.”
“Me too.”
Brandy squirmed her way up between us and planted doggy kisses on my face.
Frankie’s chuckle said she was getting the same treatment. She shifted in the bed, and I sensed her lying on her side, facing me.
“Edie, I hope you will reconsider my earlier offer. We both have wounds. I lost my wife to cancer just a year and a half ago. I’m guessing you have a similar story. Perhaps we could help each other heal.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your wife. While I appreciate that you want to move on, I’m not sure I can. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even want to come here tonight. After my wife left me three years ago, I turned into a recluse. My writing sustains me for the most part. This is the first social event I’ve been to in months. Clare threatened to send Barb after me if I didn’t show up.”
“Oh, I can just picture that.”
So could I.
I lay there, motionless, for several minutes, thinking about the woman lying next to me. We had only just met, but so far she had been everything I wanted in a friend, never mind a lover. She was kind, attentive, smart, and funny. And best of all she seemed to like me. It was a bonus that we were both about the same age. Perhaps it was time I started living again and let my heart take over from my head.
I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What were you saying about coffee or a dinner sometime soon?” I whispered.
“Mmmm. Let’s see now. How about all of the above?” The blankets shifted as Frankie moved closer.
“I’d like that.”
“Good. I really would like us to be friends. I mean, how could you resist someone so incredibly handsome?”
I muffled my laughter with the edge of the coverlet. “Don’t forget modest.”
There was laughter in her voice when she replied, “No, mustn’t forget that.”
When Frankie took my hand in hers, I held my breath and then relaxed. Her hand was warm, and its gentle pressure on my fingers was oddly comforting. I lay motionless for a few minutes, suddenly wishing Brandy would move to the bottom of the bed. She really did make an excellent chaperone. Not that anyone determined enough would be put off by the presence of a small dog.
I sighed and wished I had that kind of courage.
Brandy chose that moment to move to the bottom of the bed. The space between us suddenly seemed far too wide. I turned on my side so I was facing Frankie, careful not to dislodge her grip on my hand. The darkness that enclosed us felt warm and intimate. I sighed and settled in closer to her body. Something told me I was not going to be an orphan much longer.
VEGAN DELIGHTS
BY HAZEL YEATS
In the pre-dawn gloom, Kate struggled to wake up, disoriented and groggy. She opened her eyes one at a time. Oh goodie, a new day. A cold one at that. She pulled the comforter up to her chin. To her right, a thin sliver of light peeped through a gap in the curtains. She thought of spring mornings—of walking barefoot on damp grass while watching the magnificent sunrise; of fragrant flowers and birds chirping. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep again.
A sudden loud rap on the door made her sit bolt upright, her heart thudding in her chest.
“Kate!” Lara, her neighbor, shouted. “Are you up?”
Oh shit, she forgot she asked Lara to make sure she was up this morning.
“I am!” she hollered. “Almost!”
“Can I come in?” Lara said, her voice softer now. “I’d like to run something by you. Are you decent?”
Kate lifted the edge of the covers and glanced down. Was she? She was decent enough, for someone who was alone in her own bed. Were her thoughts decent, though? She moaned softly. Last night’s dream began just like this, with her in bed and Lara pounding on the door, asking to be let in. But then her dream had taken a wonderful turn—a turn that this scenario, in the cold light of day, definitely wasn’t going to take. Not by a long shot. She shook her head to chase away the images. She didn’t do crushes on straight women—not since eleventh grade, when Hayley Thompson had turned her world upside down.
“Kate! Did you go back to sleep?”
She hurried out of bed and opened the door to her apartment. The hope that Lara, too, would look disheveled and cold was crushed instantly. Because there—O Lord—she was. Kate blinked. What was it that worked so well about Lara? The skinny cargo pants, leather jacket, and skimpy tank top? The jet-black hair? Whatever it was, Kate’s breath got stuck in her throat. She coughed to dislodge it.
“Are you okay?” Lara came nearer. Her hair was still damp.
Even from where she was standing, Kate could smell the faint scent of soap and shampoo. She nodded and managed to bring out a hoarse, “Sure, I’m fine.”
Lara looked at her for a prolonged moment.
Kate froze. Here she was, in her faded pajama bottoms and her Property of Litchfield Federal Women’s Correctional Facility T-shirt, with tousled hair and morning breath, being scrutinized by this enigmatic super girl who lived across the hall and made her life hell. Or was it heaven? She closed her eyes for a second as she imagined herself falling into Lara’s arms.
“So I’ll see you around.” Lara made a half turn.
Kate nodded. “You bet. And thanks for the wake-up call.” She struggled for something else to say, something suave, but nothing came to mind.
“Sure,” Lara said. “No problem.”
After she left, Kate tried to pinpoint the exact moment her sanity had flown out the window. Young Lara was involved with an athletic, twenty-four-year-old dream of a man, who, to further his appeal, was the proud owner of a master’s degree in computer science. There was no doubt in Kate’s mind that he was a hacker. Maybe even an alien one.
“So how’s the new neighbor?” Carol nodded at the waitress as she filled her cup and then walked away. She took a careful sip of the coffee and made a face. “Ugh. Why, Kate? Why do I have to drink this battery acid? I live in a city where making coffee is a higher art form, for God’s sake.” She pouted. “I’m not asking for much, am I? A simple half-caf, no-foam, non-fat, vanilla soy latte will do.”
Kate looked around. The coffee house was unpretentious—to the point where some people might call it grubby. There was only one reason she liked to hang out here. “Nostalgia. I’ve been coming here since college.”
“Exactly.” Carol pointed to her cup. “And this coffee has been on a hot plate ever since.”
“You’re right,” Kate said. “From now on, we’ll meet at your uptown crappuccino place with the hunky barista, okay?”
Carol nodded. “Deal.” She pushed her glasses more firmly onto her nose. “Now, about young neighbor…”
“Her name is Lara, and she’s okay.” Kate sighed. “But I keep out of her way. I want to concentrate on work.”
“Speaking of which, I got us a gig,” Carol said. “We’re catering a sweet sixteen party next Saturday.”
“That’s great!” Kate beamed. “Where?”
“Greenwich Street,” Carol said, a proud smile on her face.
Kate patted her friend on the shoulder. “Well done, partner. Let’s give it our best shot, and then who knows, The Tartlets may well be asked to cater every celebration in Tribeca.”
Carol’s face dropped. “About that. The name, I mean. I thought it was cute when we first came up with it, but now I’m just afraid people are going to think we’re hookers. And even if they don’t, won’t they assume we’re running just another boring cupcake business? I think of us more as queens of the savory treat, actually.”
“Good point,” Kate said. “So how about The Crab Cake Wizards?”
Carol made a face. “How about s
omething a little more grown-up, like—”
“The Merry Caterers?”
“You can’t expect us to be merry all the time,” Carol said. “And even so, I really want the focus to be on our product rather than on us. Who cares if we’re cranky when our food is heavenly?”
“So let’s just go with The Tartlets,” Kate said. “For now. Or at least until we’ve used up the thousand business cards I ordered.”
Carol nodded. “So what does young neighbor girl do anyway?”
“She writes for some obscure women’s magazine.” Kate made a shushing sound. “It’s very hush-hush. They’re all about this new millennium approach to feminism, which basically comes down to the notion, if I understand correctly, that whatever you are, it’s okay.”
“Sounds like a healthy principal,” Carol said. “Although I doubt whether that’s the new millennium approach to feminism.”
“If it is, it’s a cop-out,” Kate said. “Whatever happened to taking a stand?”
Carol shrugged. “But why is it hush-hush?”
“O, I don’t know—they’re young; they love a little mystery. Unveiling conspiracies, that sort of thing.” Kate leaned over. “Apparently, they’re on to some multinational corporation that turns a blind eye to sexual harassment and age discrimination. Or maybe it’s all a smoke screen. I’ve asked her to get me an issue, but she never has. Maybe they’re really Mulder and Scully. I think they’re involved in something way more dangerous than they let on.”
“Who’s they?”
“Lara and her streamlined fiancé.”
Carol shook her head. “Your imagination is running wild again. The X-Files can really mess a person up, you know?”
“I assure you,” Kate said, “that I have both feet firmly on the ground. But I do think that there are forces in this world beyond our control.” She folded her hands on the table. “We’re on the threshold, as a species, of incredible things. Technologically, I mean. A hundred years from now, we may well have evolved into some kind of super androids.”
Carol nodded. “Probably. And that whole process is actually beginning right across the hall from your apartment. How very convenient.”
“Mock me all you want,” Kate said, her tone surly.
“You know what I think? I think women should stop whining.” Carol shoved her coffee cup across the table. “I refuse to drink this.”
“I know, we went over that.”
“The thing is,” Carol said, “you can’t pay feminism a better service than by outsmarting men.” She smiled at a young girl walking toward their table with a tray in her hands. She sat up straighter. “Climb that corporate ladder, I say!” She banged her fist on the table. “Cheat on your wife with your secretary!” The coffee cup splashed over.
The girl looked at her with an alarmed expression and scurried past.
Kate nudged Carol’s foot under the table. “Calm down, okay? You’re scaring people. And isn’t your view of men just a little clichéd?”
“I’m right, though, right?” Carol said. “What feminists have wanted through the years is to stop men from being nasty to them because they deserve pity and sympathy. But I’m telling you, the only road to equality is beating them at their own game.”
“There’s a balance that needs to be restored,” Kate said. “Men still call the shots.”
“So anyway, what’s Lara’s deal?” Carol said. “I mean, relationship-wise? Is she really getting married?”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling they’re pretty serious. I sure see them together a lot. There’s this incredible vibe between them. It’s almost like they’re one person.” She stared at a spot on the wall. “I can just picture them flying through Gotham City side by side, doing their saintly work and then afterwards having wild, intergalactic sex—while flying.”
Carol shook her head. “The guy in Gotham City doesn’t actually fly. And there’s nothing intergalactic about him.”
“Really?” Kate said. “So he’s just a regular dude in a cape?”
“Pretty much.” Carol’s head snapped up, and she eyed Kate suspiciously. “Isn’t an X-Files adept supposed to have at least a working knowledge of this stuff?”
“I was just trying to make a point.”
“It would require an out-of-this-world limberness,” Carol said dreamily. “Having sex while flying, I mean.” Her gaze strayed. “To think that there are people who live like that, huh? And then to think that Ray tried to worm his hand under my top last night when we were brushing our teeth together.” She sighed. “That’s foreplay for you after ten years of married bliss.”
Kate made a face. “Way too much information.”
“Sorry.” Carol grinned. “Love him, though.”
“She’s really okay, you know?” Kate wasn’t ready to drop the subject of Lara just yet. “I was afraid I was going to be late for our appointment this morning, so I asked her to knock on my door at seven, and she did.”
“Aw.” Carol cocked her head. “That’s so delightfully transparent. As if you don’t have an alarm clock and an iPhone all perfectly capable of raising anyone from the dead.”
“Shut up, okay?”
“So is she decent to look at?”
“Well—”
“Oh God, never mind.” Carol shook her head. “The way your eyes light up is all the answer I need!”
“She wears a lot of black,” Kate said. “And leather. She told me she was a vegan for a while, but then she started missing her leather, and now she’s just a vegetarian. When people give her a hard time about it, she says, ‘I’m not eating the damn jacket, am I?’”
Carol grinned. “It does seem like a bit of a double standard.”
“Why?” Kate shook her head. “Why is it that people who take a moral stand are always criticized for not taking a more profound moral stand? Yet people who don’t give a damn about anything are never criticized at all?”
“There are saints in this world, and then there are mere mortals,” Carol said. “And the bar is raised higher for the saints, obviously.” She tapped her index finger on Kate’s hand. “But, honey, if I can give you a piece of advice? Stop lusting after her. She’s out of your league.”
Kate flinched. “Ouch?”
“I don’t mean that you’re not hot enough,” she cast Kate a seductive glance over the rim of her glasses, “obviously.”
“That’s something, at least,” Kate said.
“But you tend to fall for the wrong women. All they do is wear you out and then dump you. Because what you want is to sit on the couch at night with your sleepy time tea and your little candles, and what they want is to paint the town red. Nobody’s fault. The women you’re attracted to are simply not the women who are right for you. You can’t hold on to them.”
“Are you saying I’m boring?”
Carol shook her head. “I wouldn’t say boring. More like…stable.” She looked at her watch. “But anyway, I have to go pick up Janey from school.” She got up, pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her back pocket, and then immediately put it back. She pointed to the battered Formica table. “This whole bash is on you. For obvious reasons.” She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Let’s get together at your place tomorrow night to plan for the sweet sixteen party, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Kate said. “Chips and dip?”
“More like smoked salmon and quesadillas.”
Kate smiled. “Ka-ching!”
It wasn’t until Kate was back in her building, staring at Lara’s door as she groped in her bag for her keys, that she remembered something Lara had said that morning. Her heart began to flutter. Lara said she wanted to run something by her. But in the confusion of the early morning encounter, she had forgotten to ask what that somethin
g was. A thrill of excitement ran through her. What an excellent reason to see her now. She knocked discreetly on Lara’s door.
No answer. Which, in retrospect, was a blessing. Because now, Kate could plan the visit for a later time, and when that time came, she’d pull out all the stops—look strikingly great, be scantily dressed, and smell beyond heavenly. If only Lara hadn’t seen her in her dowdy nightwear that morning, with the pattern of the creased sheets imprinted on her cheek. It would be quite a challenge to erase that image from her mind.
She and Carol spent the next evening trying out new recipes, most of them based on what Kate considered to be God’s gift to vegans—the chickpea.
“Why vegan?” Carol ran her finger through the hummus and slipped it in her mouth. She moaned. “Jesus, that’s really good.”
“Because we’re versatile,” Kate answered. “We can cater any shindig, whether it’s vegan, vegetarian, kosher, halal, or what have you.” She threw a bunch of coriander and a handful of cashews in a blender. As she was whizzing it up, Carol rested a hand on her arm. She switched off the machine. “What?”
“Are you sure we’re not concentrating on the vegan delights because you want to impress the vegan delight across the hall?”
Kate shook her head. “I told you, I don’t mix business with pleasure. I’m totally dedicated to us, you know, to The Tartlets, or whatever we call ourselves.”
“All right, then.” Carol opened the fridge and scanned the contents. “Where do you keep the sour cream?”
“Hello!” Kate said, fiddling with the blender. “No dairy, remember?”
“Right.” Carol sighed. “What a hard life that must be. Like missing an arm.”
A knock on the door.
Kate wiped her hands on her apron and blew a strand of hair off her forehead. She opened the door, and there was Lara, looking like some deliciously androgynous anime character. Once again, she was fresh out of the shower.
