by Erin Zak
It was awesome. I found out my great-aunt is bisexual and married her longtime female partner in the eighties. It was so wonderful finding out I’m not an anomaly in the family.
Bernadette could hear Stevie’s voice, the excitement in it, and it made her smile. She couldn’t help herself. She typed, You are adorable, and hit send before she realized what she’d done. “Shit.”
Well, I do what I can, Stevie texted back. And before long, she also sent, Would you like to hang out with me tonight?
She froze. She knew if she said yes, it was going to open an entire can of worms she was never going to be able to close. She was too attracted to Stevie to control this for much longer. She needed to do what she promised Connie she would do. She was never going to handle the guilt if she didn’t. And she wasn’t a liar, and her poker face needed a lot of work. She wouldn’t be caught dead at table games at a casino, that was for sure. How about you meet me for a drink? I need to talk to you about something.
Stevie’s response was quick. I would love to. Any particular place?
Bernadette gave Stevie the address to City Winery downtown on the river and told her an hour. Stevie didn’t argue and said she’d be there with bells on, which Bernadette hated her a little for because all it did was make her smile even harder.
* * *
Stevie was practically running as she descended the steps to the Riverwalk where the entrance to City Winery was. She’d been there a couple times already, and it was by far one of her favorite places downtown. She wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur, but she definitely liked the challenge wine offered to her taste buds. When Stevie breezed in through the doors, she immediately saw Bernadette at a table with two glasses of white wine. They made eye contact, and Stevie wondered if her breath would always catch in her throat when it came to eye contact with Bernadette.
When she arrived at the table, she felt herself grinning as well as shaking like a leaf. “Is this for me?” Stevie motioned toward the other glass of wine.
“Do you think I’m a lush, Stevie?”
Bernadette’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and when Stevie sat, she noticed the way Bernadette stiffened. Something was off, but she had no idea what it was. She was instantly filled with nerves. “Well, I mean, if the shoe fits.”
“It’s for you.”
Stevie eyed Bernadette’s hand as she slid the wine across the table by the foot of the glass. Her nails were painted a dark cherry color and looked a little longer than the last time. Her eyes traveled up Bernadette’s hand to that fucking vein Stevie could not get enough of, then flitted up to Bernadette’s eyes. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant thankfully wasn’t crazy yet, so Bernadette’s nod must have meant she heard. Something was definitely up with Bernadette. Stevie could feel it.
“You got here in good time,” Bernadette said. Her attempt at small talk made Stevie’s skin crawl.
Stevie crossed her right leg over her left and folded her arms across her chest. Never a fan of beating around the bush, she asked, “What the hell’s going on?”
Bernadette’s face fell. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a horrible liar.” Stevie watched as Bernadette’s eyes moved from Stevie’s to the wineglass. It was exactly like the night they had coffee after the Lights Festival. She was nervous, scared, and it was so blatantly obvious. Stevie had barely spent any time with Bernadette but already knew her better than she’d ever known another human being in her entire life. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Bernadette said, her voice firm. “I need to not see you anymore.”
Stevie had no idea what got into her, but all she could do was smile. She stared at Bernadette for a beat, two beats, before she looked around the restaurant. There were quite a few people coming in the doors now, all skipping the host and lining up at the bar. Stevie wanted something stronger than a glass of whatever the fuck wine Bernadette got her. “So Constance wins?”
Bernadette’s eyes locked on to Stevie’s, but instead of a rebuttal, all she did was blink rapidly.
“You’re going to let her do this to you?” Stevie sat stock-still and waited. But all Bernadette did was sigh and look away from Stevie. Then as she seemed to be about to speak, Stevie waved a hand to stop her. “Give me a second, okay? Don’t leave.” Stevie jumped up, strutted to the bar, and cut in front of the entire line. “I’m sorry,” she said to everyone. “But this woman over here is trying to dump me for no good reason, so I need a real drink. Okay?” The entire line turned their heads and looked at Bernadette, who now looked as if she wanted to crawl under the table and die. Stevie ordered an old-fashioned, and when the bartender told her no charge, she gripped her heart, smiled, said, “Thank you so much,” then walked back to Bernadette. When she sat down, she took a sip of the drink and reveled in the feel of the liquid burning her esophagus. She pulled a breath in through clenched teeth, then licked her lips. “What the hell, Bernadette?”
“Stevie, you’re going to leave. Remember?” Bernadette swirled the wine in her glass expertly, her eyes on Stevie’s the entire time. It was making it hard for Stevie to breathe. “I am cutting my losses now.”
“Cut the shit.” Stevie rolled her eyes. “You think I believe you? You don’t even believe yourself. This is Constance not wanting you to be happy, and you fucking know it.”
Bernadette pursed her full lips. They weren’t as red as normal, but there was still a mauve tint on them. Stevie wanted to kiss her. Even through all the lies, Stevie wanted to kiss her and change her mind. Make her see Constance was not the be-all and end-all of Bernadette’s life.
“Don’t do this,” Stevie said softly. She picked her glass up and motioned toward Bernadette with it. “You know you don’t want to do this.”
Bernadette took her glass by the stem and took a swallow. She looked calm, as if she wasn’t thrown whatsoever by Stevie’s protest. So much so Stevie was starting to get nervous. It wasn’t until Bernadette took another sip of wine, set her glass on the table, leaned forward, and said, “Are we still hanging out tonight?” that Stevie figured out maybe she was going to win.
* * *
Stevie typed her code into the keypad of the backstage door to the theater. It was her turn to make sure everything was set up for their show on Saturday, and while she’d normally make Laurie go with her, she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to maybe show off a little for Bernadette.
It was unlike her to want to show someone the behind-the-scenes action. Partly because it wasn’t all that glamorous, but also, not everyone could understand what it meant to her. One of her past girlfriends was pretty standoffish when it came to this, almost as if she was turned off by Stevie’s passion for something other than her. After that, Stevie held her cards close to her chest. She didn’t share the intimate details of herself, her life, or her passions with anyone. Until now, of course. It was crazy to think in such a short time, she was ready to tell Bernadette things she swore she’d never tell anyone ever again.
It was honestly more scary than crazy. But she was trying to not let it all frighten her. After all, as Bernadette reminded her earlier, Stevie was going to leave eventually. Hopefully. It seemed, though, the longer it took to hear from SNL, the less likely it was she was going to make it. She was keeping her head up in the meantime. And also, slowly, very, very, very slowly, opening herself up to a relationship she never thought she wanted.
“So, this is backstage.” Stevie spun around and walked backward as if she was born to be a tour guide. Bernadette’s grin was too much to focus on. She practically stumbled and fell over a sandbag but caught herself with a hand to the exposed brick wall.
“Have you always been a klutz?” Bernadette’s laughter was contagious.
“Not always. But it seems to happen…” She now stood in front of Bernadette, whose hands were shoved in the pockets of her long taupe-colored wool coat. She reached forward and pushed a
lock of Bernadette’s hair behind her ear. “A lot around you.”
Bernadette took a step forward. “Maybe it’s because I caught you the last time.”
“Maybe,” Stevie breathed. She wanted to kiss her. Right then and there. Get it over with, for Christ’s sake. But she couldn’t. Stevie couldn’t find her nerve, especially because an hour ago, Bernadette had been trying to break up with her. How was she supposed to not be gun-shy? “So, anyway…” She pulled her attention back to the makeshift tour she was giving and tried to refocus on something other than Bernadette’s lips. “This is where we all get ready. All stage makeup is applied here. All breath mints are kept here.” Stevie pointed to a large bowl of all types of mints. “And all bottles of water there. Now over here”—she moved around the backstage area and over toward the entrance to the stage—“this is the best part. Every person who ever performs here gets to leave a mark, their signature, a quote, something, on this wall. It’s amazing. Tina Fey is right here.” Stevie underlined it with her right index finger and sighed. “She’s my favorite. Also, here’s Bonnie Hunt. And over here is where Bill Murray signed. Oh, man, and Amy Poehler.”
“You’re adorable.”
She froze in place. Her cheeks were on fire. She glanced over at Bernadette, tried to smile, and guessed she looked pained more than happy.
“I could listen to you all day long.”
Stevie’s heart was beating so hard. Of all the times she performed at that theater, this was the only time her heart felt as if it was going to beat itself to death. She was always the calmest one before a show. She learned early on that being nervous was good, but being scared shitless was horrible. She practiced breathing exercises, did deep knee bends, and focused on the sounds of laughter and applause. But standing there, staring at the wall with those names that meant so much to her, listening to Bernadette’s gentle breathing, smelling her amazing perfume, wondering if they were ever going to work up the nerve to kiss each other, was the most nervous and scared shitless Stevie had ever been in her entire life. How did a lifetime of training not prepare her for what felt like one of the biggest performances of her life?
There was a moment when Stevie thought maybe she was going to gain the courage to look at Bernadette, reach out, touch her, pull her close, and kiss the fuck out of her. But the moment was followed by doubt and fear and the idea that Bernadette obviously spent most of the day and night figuring out ways to let Stevie down.
Because of Constance fucking Russo.
And it didn’t matter that Stevie was sort of a celebrity, that she was adorable, that she was hilarious, or that she was probably—strike that—abso-fucking-lutely going to be on SNL one day. All that mattered was she was now competing for Bernadette’s heart. As competitive as she was, as much as she loved winning, as much as she loathed losing, she knew at the end of the day, none of it was going to be enough. Pulling the heartstrings of someone who had only allowed another soul to pluck them was never a competition easily won. Stevie wondered if she even had the gumption for it anymore. Especially knowing she wasn’t going to hang out forever. And she knew Bernadette was never going to leave this city for another city that was larger, more exhausting, and didn’t have her mom in it. Or Constance fucking Russo.
“So, this over here is the stage,” Stevie finally said when she finished talking herself out of taking a chance and kissing Bernadette. She breezed through the stage-left entrance and spread her arms when she arrived dead center. She looked around at the empty chairs and breathed in deep as she tilted her head back, eyes closed, taking in the feel. When she opened her eyes, she glanced over her right shoulder to where Bernadette was standing. “The first time I was here, I cried.”
“When did you know?”
“Know? That I wanted to be a performer?” Stevie said the word with her best British accent, saw the way Bernadette looked at her, felt the way it took her own breath away, and knew if the spotlight was on, she’d be as red as a maraschino cherry. “Um,” she started but turned at the sound of Bernadette walking downstage. She watched her jump down to sit in the front row. Stevie pulled one of the prop chairs from the wall to the middle of the stage. She ran her finger along the top of the back of the chair, wrapped her fingers around it, and gripped it hard before she finally said, “I was eight the first time I read a poem of my own in front of a crowd. My teacher at the time was very encouraging…especially because I was now the kid who lost both her parents in this horrific car crash, and I somehow survived.” Stevie tilted the chair back toward her, then to the side until she had it balanced on one solitary leg. She walked around the chair slowly. “It wasn’t all that great—the poem—but it was exhilarating, the feeling of being the only person holding everyone’s attention.”
“You’re certainly holding my attention.” Bernadette’s voice broke Stevie out of her reverie.
Stevie was still balancing the chair before she reached out and set it back on all fours. She sat, crossed her legs, left over right, and looked down at Bernadette. “You do seem like a great audience member.”
“Well, of course,” Bernadette said as she mimicked the way Stevie was sitting. She stretched out an arm and laid it on the back of the seat next to her, her coat now open and exposing her black sweater. Stevie’s eyes were drawn to her breasts, to how full they looked, to the way the sweater clung to her flat stomach. “It’s easy when I’m interested in the show.”
Stevie cocked an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I feel like a couple hours ago, this show was getting mixed reviews.”
“It was only because I didn’t understand the plot at first.” Bernadette lifted her chin, tilted her head, then licked her lips. “Do you remember the poem?”
“I do.”
“Tell me.” Bernadette’s chest visibly rose and fell with an apparent intake of breath. “Please.”
Stevie felt her throat tighten. She swallowed and closed her eyes as she reached back into her memory bank and pulled out one of the most important details of her life.
“She had long hair like mine,” Stevie started. “Long eyelashes like mine. She wore perfume; my blanket still smells like her, the one I used when I used to suck my thumb, but now I don’t do things like that because I had to grow up, and it’s too hard to smell her…” Stevie paused and pursed her lips, then finished with, “When I can’t remember the way she sounds.” Stevie opened her eyes and looked at Bernadette, whose eyes were glossy, and tears were streaming down her face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stevie sprang up from the chair, crossed the short distance to the edge of the stage, and jumped down to where Bernadette was seated. “That’s not okay.” She knelt in front of her. “You’re not allowed to cry.”
Bernadette quickly wiped at her tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was so beautiful.”
“I was eight.”
“You were amazing.” Bernadette leaned forward and placed both hands on Stevie’s face. She smoothed her thumb over Stevie’s lips, up over her cheek, then stopped. “You are amazing.”
“Berna—”
“No.” Bernadette stopped her with a thumb to her lips. “I don’t know what’s happening or why or how to stop it because I know I’m going to get my heart broken into a million pieces.”
“Stop thinking about the negatives.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Try,” Stevie said with a tiny smile.
“What if…” Bernadette’s voice trailed off, and Stevie thought the moment was going to pass. “What if I kissed you?”
Stevie knew then it was only the beginning as she said, “I think you should do it and find out.”
Bernadette leaned down and pulled ever so gently on Stevie’s face until their lips finally met. She closed her eyes as she melted into the feel of Bernadette’s full lips, the scent of her lipstick and wine mingling together to create a unique aroma she would never forget. The way Bernadette’s lips felt, the perfect way they seemed to fit together, the smoothness of the tip of her t
ongue, the nip of her teeth on Stevie’s lower lip, all of it was so fucking erotic. She couldn’t resist wanting more. She placed her hand on Bernadette’s knee, pressed until Bernadette got the hint and uncrossed her legs. She stood, their lips never parting, and she straddled Bernadette’s lap. She pushed her hands into Bernadette’s silky, soft hair, and when their lips broke apart, she kissed along Bernadette’s jawline to her ear and down to her pulse point. She heard Bernadette’s soft whimper when Stevie pulled a little too hard on her hair, but instead of apologizing, she went right back to Bernadette’s lips. She covered her mouth, kissed her as if her life depended on it, as if the fate of the world rested in their kiss because, for maybe the first time ever, Stevie couldn’t tell where she ended and someone else began. And Bernadette’s hands were roaming up the back of Stevie’s leather jacket and down the back of her skinny jeans where she traced with her fingernails the waistband of Stevie’s thong. Stevie broke apart from their kiss, panting, her entire body engulfed with flames, her center soaked completely. “We can’t do this here.”
“Oh?” Bernadette leaned forward and kissed the exposed skin on Stevie’s chest. She felt Bernadette’s tongue as she licked up to the hollow where her chest met her neck. “You don’t want to have sex on the stage?”
“Jesus Christ, Bernadette,” Stevie whispered. The feel of Bernadette’s hot breath against the wet area where her tongue had been was exhilarating. “As fucking hot as it sounds,” Stevie started as she leaned back so she could look at Bernadette, “we cannot. My luck, someone would walk in and then I’d be…well, I’d be fucked. And not in a good way.”
Bernadette’s lips looked so used and delicious with her lipstick smudged. Stevie wanted to devour her all over again. She was so ready to be touched, too. She knew the second Bernadette touched her between her legs, it was going to be all over. She’d come in seconds, like a prepubescent teenager with no idea how to handle hormones. It was all ridiculous. “Let’s go then,” Bernadette said quietly.
