Best Lesbian Romance 2012

by Radclyffe

  “Candles? Would you like candles?” Without waiting for an answer, Bunny lit two almond-scented candles that were already on the table and dimmed the overhead light. Did a woman who was into guys do that for a girl guest?

  Frenchy hardly said a word through dinner, except to praise the pleasure of a home-cooked meal, while Bunny talked about the store, her sad performance, Frenchy’s patience with her. When she asked how Bunny’s dad was, Bunny launched into a blow-by-blow of his health and little stories about him that made them both laugh.

  “We could never just go somewhere,” Bunny told her. “If we were visiting family out on Long Island, Daddy had to stop at the grocery stores. Not every one, but one or two each time. He’d drive an hour out of the way to check on a new chain or a remodeled supermarket. He’d rant about his pet peeves—like food stores built into malls. ‘Ridiculous,’ he’d yell. ‘Your grocery is going to be your last stop, right?’ Like he was really asking me. ‘If the customer goes to Macy’s and Sears and the food court first, what do they have left? Only enough cash for the things on their list. No impulse items, no stocking up while they’re there. The customer is tired, isn’t she? By this time the kids are cranky. The husband’s worrying about all the spending. Never,’ he’d tell me, ‘never buy a store in a mall. Freestanding is what you want.’ You don’t see grocery stores in malls anymore, do you?”

  “Come to think of it,” Frenchy said, “you don’t.”

  Going over to Bunny’s for dinner became a habit, even after Bunny’s cashier training was finished and she’d moved to Deli Clerk, then Meat Wrapper.

  “You’re learning to do it all,” Frenchy commented when she got to the New Dorp store and Bunny was working the customer service desk.

  “Ooh, Frenchy,” Bunny said, her eyes happy and excited. “I’m learning so much!”

  The clerk who was teaching Bunny rolled her eyes. Frenchy frowned at the clerk.

  “Spreadsheets were hard for me,” she told Bunny. “I couldn’t get the concept.”

  Bunny said, “It’s so much easier than keeping a log book and adding it all ourselves.”

  Again, the clerk rolled her eyes. But Frenchy kind of wished they could go back to the days before computers and told that to Bunny, who stopped her scurry toward the bathroom next to the customer service counter saying, “I remember when Daddy first put bathrooms in the front of his stores so the customers weren’t wandering around the storage areas, maybe helping themselves. He said he’d rather put Porta-Potties in the parking lots, but the city wouldn’t stand for it.”

  She was actually getting to like Staten Island. The people were so different from real New Yorkers, she told Bunny. That visit Bunny served a blue fish chowder she’d had in a crock pot all day and Frenchy was ready to buy the half-million-dollar apartment next door instead of anything in Florida. Could you fall for a woman because of her cooking? It was like Bunny wore food smells as perfume, and they got Frenchy feeling like a baby butch in spring.

  Her Bank Street home seemed dark and lonely compared to Bunny’s place, all filled with bright yet soft colors. Her place was still pretty much furnished with her original stuff. She’d been so proud of the black-and-white houndstooth check living room set she’d found at a going-out-of-business sale on Fourteenth Street—and then she’d found drapes in the exact same pattern! It all seemed so old-fashioned and dingy now, even with the gold lampshades and the diamond-patterned gold and black carpet. It smelled like unaired apartment.

  There was a still life over her couch that bored her to tears. It had attracted her twenty-five years ago, but she’d been mistaken to think she’d always like it. Bunny was like a work of art you wanted to have around for a long time.

  If she wasn’t gay, she would ask Bunny down to Florida with her. She’d be fun to take to Disney World. They’d have to sleep in the same room together at her brother’s, so that wasn’t such a hot idea. Serge would think Bunny was dense just like everyone at the store thought. She was still hearing stories about Bunny’s nervous goof-ups, like how she cashed a city check for someone who showed her a driver’s license. When they compared the number Bunny had handwritten on the back of the check with the driver’s license number pre-printed on the check, it wasn’t the same. Five hundred and some odd dollars down the drain, plus bank fees.

  Bunny sure knew how to bring a house alive, though, and how to light up someone’s day. Those weren’t qualities Frenchy had thought to value before.

  She talked Florida up, surprised that Bunny had never been there. Bunny, it turned out, had been off Staten Island less than a dozen times in her life.

  “They have a name for what I have and I started on pills for it just last year.”

  Frenchy wasn’t sure it would be more polite to ask or not to ask for details. They were at the park by the water. It was twilight and fall. She wouldn’t mind putting the orange and red leaves, the peach sunset streaked with narrow yellow clouds and jet plumes and the blue water with pink highlights, on her wall.

  “You think there’s a poster of this?”

  “Of the sunset?”

  “From Staten Island.” She felt it, that they weren’t holding hands, as they stood side by side. She wasn’t used to hanging out with straight girls.

  “You’re nice to change the subject, Frenchy.”

  “From what?”

  “From what I’m sick with.”

  She stopped at a bench and sat, patting the space next to her until Bunny joined her. “Tell me.”

  It was the first time Bunny had ever looked upset. Was it the effect of light seeping out of the sky and the damp bay air, or had a look of fear replaced Bunny’s customary calm?

  “Geeze. Geeze. Geeze. You’re crying,” she said to Bunny. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “You didn’t, Frenchy. I never told anyone outside the family before. I have a mental health problem, an anxiety disorder.”

  “Are you sure? You get nervous at the store, but you keep going no matter what.”

  “When it comes on I’m scared to leave my bed, much less my apartment. It makes me sick. I have to get to the bathroom, but I’m paralyzed with fear. I used a lot of tranquilizers at the store.”

  “But look at you. You’re here in the park and you work at the store. You’re not afraid to leave home.”

  “It’s why I never moved out. Even when Mommy died, I was okay as long as I stayed home and kept the books.”

  “Not the Apple Cart books.”

  “You didn’t know? I might be too nervous to be much good in the store, but I have a correspondence degree in accounting and enough experience working with Daddy’s accountant to get my CPA license. We have services do a lot of the work, but I took over when Daddy’s accountant retired. I use e-mail and fax and never leave home.”

  “You are one big surprise. Why didn’t you tell me? Here I thought you were…”

  “What? A dumb bunny?”

  “Of course not,” she exclaimed, ready to tell Bunny how she’d defended her to Gloria.

  “Everybody thinks I’m a half-wit, Frenchy. It’s okay. My counselor said I act dumb to take attention away from my social phobia. Maybe that’s part of it, but also I freeze up. My brain won’t work when I’m scared.”

  That explained it. Bunny got dumb with fear. Frenchy was supposed to make her feel safe.

  “When Daddy remarried, he told me I was welcome to live with them and Krista backed him up, but you know, I didn’t think that would be right. Daddy sold our big old barn of a house and moved to the top floor of the building where he bought me the apartment.”

  “Are you okay now, living alone?”

  “Kind of. Daddy’s nearby. My birds are a comfort. But as soon as I was used to being in my own place? Daddy insisted I start going out. That’s why he got me the job. I’m telling you because I’ve felt funny all day.”

  “You feel funny today? So you’re not over it? You’re scared now?”

  “Over it? I don’t t
hink that’ll happen. The pills, though, help me. Some days are harder than others.”

  Bunny’s face was pale. She seemed smaller. The poor woman looked about to hurl.

  Would Bunny’s father think she’d scared Bunny? “What happens to you?”

  “I get so cold,” Bunny said in a hoarse whisper. Frenchy could see that she was all folded in on herself, like she was under attack from a threat no one else could see. Bunny was twisting one wrist with her other hand, twisting hard so it was red. She wouldn’t meet Frenchy’s eyes. Her breathing was choppy.

  Bunny was a mess. What the heck was she supposed to do?

  “Is it happening now?” she asked.

  Bunny nodded. She’d withdrawn to the farthest end of the bench, a small ghostly figure with her white hair and lavender jacket glowing in the deepening dusk.

  “Should I take you home?”

  “You go.” Her voiced sounded like a faint growl.

  “You want me to go home?”

  Bunny nodded, rocking herself now. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  She didn’t want to see Bunny like this either. Going home sounded like a great idea, but she couldn’t. “I’m not leaving you here.” It was a wonder the smell of low tide wasn’t making Bunny sicker. “Come on, now. The sooner you let me take you home, the sooner I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Bunny, who had always seemed soft, warm and pliant, was hunched and stiff against Frenchy, who walked with an arm around her. This was as unsettling as being with Mercedes when she was freaking out and throwing stuff at Frenchy forty years earlier. She’d said she’d never live with another woman after that, and she hadn’t.

  In the elevator, Bunny shook like the last leaf in an autumn wind.

  When the elevator door opened, she had to urge Bunny out and down the hall to her apartment. Then Bunny stalled on the welcome mat. Frenchy fished out keys from Bunny’s purse and noticed four locks on the door. Where she lived, she could see it, but Staten Island?

  Once inside, Bunny fled to the bathroom. Frenchy could hear her flushing the toilet a lot. She clicked on the TV to spare Bunny embarrassment.

  When she awoke two hours later, still on the couch, the TV was off and there was a blanket over her. She wondered how much effort and courage it had cost Bunny to make those little caring gestures. The back of her forearm and her cheek were full of dents from the knobby fabric. The house smelled like a pizza parlor. Bunny, humming, looked completely normal.

  “Hey,” she called. She folded the blanket. “I’ll get lost now. I wanted to wait and be sure you were okay, but I guess, you know, I fell asleep.”

  Bunny came into the living room and reached for her hands. They stood face-to-face, their arms linked between them in two v’s.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bunny said. “When a panic attack hits I get too scared to find a pill and take it.”

  “Good to know,” said Frenchy. “I felt kind of helpless.”

  “You did exactly the right thing.”

  “Did I say something wrong, to set it off?”

  “No. I did by deciding to tell you about being sick like this.” Bunny paused. “And because of the other thing I needed to tell you.” She could hear Bunny’s deep intake of breath. “Daddy thinks I get these because I’m gay and I’m scared to be gay out in the world.”

  Frenchy was stunned to silence. Bunny went on. “I was afraid you’d run off when I told you.”

  Running sounded good. Real good. “You told me to leave. I don’t want to make it worse.”

  “No,” Bunny said again, pulling her into a tight hug. “I don’t ever want you to leave.”

  She’d heard that line before, but never as plaintively spoken.

  It was two weeks before she next went over to Bunny’s. She was nervous that Bunny would fall apart again, but Bunny was fine. Halfway there she realized she hadn’t dressed up this time, although her jeans, as always, were pressed and her Yankees sweatshirt looked as new as the day she bought it.

  Bunny grabbed her hand to pull her inside the apartment.

  “Ooh, Frenchy, look what I found online.” Bunny was in a silky electric blue shell with yellow pants this time.

  On the wall across from the couch was a large framed painting that looked just like the sunset they’d watched.

  “I was going to give it to you, but I hoped if I hung it here, you’d always have a reason to come back.”

  Frenchy swallowed. Hard. She’d decided she didn’t want to be with anyone, but the sight of Bunny made her feel all warm around her heart. Bunny had been thinking about her. “You didn’t need a pretty picture to get me to come back, Bunny.”

  “There’s another reason too.” Bunny’s face had turned a deep pink and she looked at the cream-colored rug. “I wanted to celebrate with you again.”

  “Celebrate that you didn’t shrink-wrap your hand in the meat-wrapping machine?” she asked with a smile.

  “Oh, Frenchy. You’re a tease. It’s Daddy’s announcement. The reason he’s had me working in the store all these months.”

  “What?” Frenchy asked, thinking it was Bunny who was the tease.

  “Daddy’s convinced now that I can accomplish anything I try as long as I take my pills. He wants to retire part-time and travel around the world with Krista. I’m going to run the business while he’s gone. He’ll fix my mistakes between short trips till I learn everything. Eventually he’ll turn the chain over to me.”

  Little Bunny in charge of the whole company? She managed to choke out, “Congratulations.”

  “You’ll help me, Frenchy, won’t you? See, Daddy had you train me for a reason.”

  “Not because I was his best manager?”

  Bunny just smiled. Frenchy thought of Clove’s warning that her boss always got more out of her than he paid her for.

  “That too. I wouldn’t be so scared with you helping me.”

  Frenchy dropped to the couch. Bunny was practically young enough to be a trophy wife. She was pretty and mostly easy to be with. She had a big paid-for apartment with a view and had just practically inherited the Apple Cart. Plus she cooked like a chef. They could get married in Connecticut.

  Bunny sat next to her. It was the first time Frenchy had seen her get all coy. She gazed up from under her eyebrows. “Daddy suggested I’d need a vice president.”

  She felt her eyes open wide.

  “It’s okay, Frenchy. It’s only when Daddy’s away. I need someone to keep after the managers. Do surprise visits. Be there for inventory days. Will you help me?”

  “Dom’s never hired a woman for anything higher than store manager!”

  “Yes, he has, Frenchy. He’s hired me. He thinks we’re two peas in a pod, kind of innocent, but honest, with a love for the business.”

  “Innocent? Me? I can’t take this all in.”

  “I guess it’s a lot to ask all of a sudden.” Bunny got that lost look in her eyes again. Sweat glistened at her hairline. Her right hand was wringing her left wrist. “All I really want is for you to come look at the sunset with me now and then, but I could use your help.”

  This was everything she always wanted, but in such an unexpected package. Her thoughts cascaded. She’d have to call it off with Gloria. She and Clove would stay just friends. She wouldn’t need that glimmer of hope with Mercedes. Would Bunny object to her seeing her old flames? Could she still visit her SAGE lesbians? She’d have to resign from the condo/co-op board. Would Bunny travel if she got a condo in Florida?

  She wished she had a pill to stop her own panic. Sucking in a deep breath she leaned back, one arm slipping across the back of the couch, behind Bunny. Could anything feel better than sitting beside soft, warm, needy Bunny on her pretty goldenrod-colored furniture in her comfy new home, listening to her birds sing and laughing at her stories?

  CLEAN SLATE

  Lisabet Sarai

  I didn’t cry until the last session.

  Luisa picked up on it right away. “Should I stop?
Do you need more anesthetic?”

  I shook my head, the weight of my shame crushing me into the table. Tears leaked out from under my lids, closed against the hot glare of the examination light. “No, never mind. Just keep going.”

  “We don’t have to finish today, chica. You can come back next week.”

  “No, forget it. Go on. I want to get it over with.” It wasn’t the deep burn of the laser that brought those traitorous tears. I’d endured a lot worse pain.

  “Are you sure?”

  I blinked in the brightness of that artificial sun, sending the moisture flying. Luisa hovered over me, an uncharacteristic frown knitting her coffee-colored brow. “I’m okay. Really.” I managed a weak grin. “Don’t mind me. It’s just nerves.” She looked unconvinced. “Please, Luisa. I promised Richard I’d be done by today.”

  “Whatever you say, Ally.”

  She picked up her instrument and focused the glass cylinder on my shoulder where she’d been working before. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply as she had taught me. The heat sliced into my skin. I welcomed the pain as the punishment I deserved for losing control. Not that Luisa would condemn me. She understood.

  At first, she’d been Ms. Sanchez and I’d been Ms. Wells. Now, after four months, two days a week, she was practically a member of my family. Hell, I trusted her a lot more than family. Not that she’d told me much about her life or questioned me about mine, but I’m sure she recognized the Gothic letters inscribed at the back of my neck, the designs on my knuckles and in the crook of my elbow. She was an expert. She didn’t need to ask.

  Those tats were long gone. For the last four weeks, Luisa had been working patiently at the image that sprawled across my right shoulder and breast. My devil woman.

  I called her Lilith. She had huge tits with red-grape nipples and a glorious fat ass. Her skin was black velvet. Her pomegranate lips parted to show pointed teeth that gleamed with my natural paleness. Lilith lounged naked on my chest, luxuriant jet curls tumbling across my shoulder, the globe of her butt coinciding with the meager swell of my own tit. Lilith grasped a steel-blue sword in one hand and a hank of chain in the other. Nobody fucked with Lilith.