by D. L. King
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know you’re right, but for now there’s nothing I can do. Don’t ever let Papa hear you talking like that.”
“Don’t fear, I won’t. And while we’re on the subject of talking, have you noticed anything?”
I shook my head, puzzled. “No. What?”
“Mi Carina, your stammer is gone.” Susan took my hand and this time I didn’t pull away; I felt her strength and confidence surge through me like an electrical bolt.
The heat wave that had the city sweltering for weeks offered a welcome hiatus one Thursday afternoon when overcast skies threatened to bring summer to an abrupt end. It seemed to suit my mood. Susan had graduated several weeks earlier, coming top of her class. In two days she would be en route to America to join her family’s annual vacation. She breezed into the café with her customary flamboyance and conducted her ritual with my father. But then she whispered to me in a quick, hushed voice too low for Papa to hear, “It’s time I took you to Swallow Bay. Grab your shades and an umbrella, you’ll probably need both.” She turned then to address my father and told him she was taking me to meet her family. He wasn’t to know that they had already left the country, but the surprised look on Papa’s face was priceless, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the thought of anyone wanting to introduce me to their family. He had no time to find reasons to keep me in the café that day. Susan and I exited as quickly as we could, leaving a thunder-faced Papa in our wake.
We took the train from Botanic station. Susan sat next to me and held my hand. She arranged her jacket so as to conceal our interlocking fingers. I remember her soft, delicate hands; the calmness that enveloped me the moment I touched her smooth skin.
Susan took me to a small stretch of beach that only she knew about. It wasn’t immediately visible and it required determination to make the fifteen-minute hike across jutting rocks before the little cove revealed itself. The journey was worth it. The pale white sand covered only a few meters before it met the clear blue water. We were surrounded by the jutting shoreline, protected from prying eyes. I knew I was venturing into uncharted waters.
Susan began to take off her clothes. I stood motionless. She realized I hadn’t moved. “What are you waiting for? Get a move on before it starts to rain!”
I was shocked into action. “Are you out of your mind? We’ve no swimwear.”
“You don’t need it. Come on. Just imagine you’re back in Puglia and you need to cool off.” She ran then, naked, into the water. It’s no lie that I was curious to see what her body looked like. I had already guessed from the clothes she wore and her contours that her build was slim and boyish. I wasn’t shy about exposing my own nakedness; I knew I was well defined. I had inherited my mother’s genes and never gained weight. I suppose it helped that I didn’t succumb to the café’s diet of pizza and ice cream. I joined her in the water. Could it have been warm? I don’t remember.
I tried not to stare at Susan’s breasts. Her nipples poked out defiantly above the water. She caught me looking. “I know they’re small,” she grinned, “but they’re perfectly formed. And you know what they say?”
“No, tell me, what do they say?”
“Anything more than a handful is a waste!”
We dried ourselves with our clothes and lay on the sand to let the weak sun do the rest. It was getting cold, but I didn’t care. I had never had such unguarded access to her before, such space and time to linger over her. My gaze followed the length of her body, taking in her long, toned limbs and flat belly, the small breasts and graceful neck. When my eyes traveled to her face I found her looking at me intently. I looked away, but then gradually my eyes journeyed back to hers and there she was, gazing at me, smiling.
“You look happy, mi Carina.”
“I am. I am exquisitely happy.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. It’s probably spending time in the water. I miss it.”
She sighed then. I searched her face. “What is it?”
“Give me something to work with here.”
Susan was being playful but I knew she found me exasperating.
“Okay. I’m happy because I’m with you.”
“At last. A declaration!”
“Of sorts,” I added. I couldn’t help it.
“Of sorts? A compliment followed by a retraction of aforementioned compliment. Cheers, Carina.”
“Don’t be like that, Susan. Just as we’re getting close, you’re leaving. Anyway, I might even like men. Who knows?”
“Who are you trying to kid, mi Carina? You’re into me and I’m into you. Fact. That’s why we’re here today, to do something about it. Then we can plan how to spring you from your Papa’s prison. Let’s get dressed, we’re going to my house.”
I had never been kissed before that day, had never been intimate with another human being. Many women have come and gone in my life but the experience of that afternoon has never been bettered. We barely spoke during the twenty-minute walk to Susan’s house. Once inside, we went straight to her room. She asked me if I would like some water and I shook my head. She put her arms out and drew me into her and began to slowly undress me. At first I didn’t know how to react, but the heat rising inside me took over and I followed Susan’s lead, unbuttoning her shirt, unbuckling her belt. Soon we were tearing off each other’s clothes, kissing, biting and licking as we tumbled naked into the bed.
Susan tenderly stroked my body. I responded, gently flicking her nipples as she caressed my breasts. I felt Susan’s tongue begin its slow descent. When she nibbled and licked me I gasped with surprise; her probing tongue unleashed sensations I never knew existed until then. I thought I would explode as Susan expertly drank in my juices, causing me to almost faint with desire as my nerve endings reached a crescendo. I came, my back arching involuntarily, and as I struggled to get my breath back, when I thought it was over, Susan’s fingers slipped inside me, finding purchase in the hot wetness. Again my body responded, wave after convulsing wave of pleasure before the final release.
Susan held me in her arms as my heartbeat resumed its normal pace.
Feeling bold, encouraged, I kissed Susan hungrily; I could taste my sweet juices on her lips, and the passion rose in us again. My efforts became more urgent as I mounted her. I wasn’t sure what came next, but instinct told me that I was on the right track; it was as if we were meant to fit together, the wetness and friction melding as one. Our bodies rode together, the intensity of the motion driving me wild. Susan’s breathing rasped. She groaned aloud as she begged me to take her. I was amazed by what was happening; this woman was in ecstasy beneath me. My confidence grew and I bit into Susan’s neck as she juddered and screamed out her orgasm.
I will never forget the sweat-soaked sheets as I went down on Susan for the first time. My tongue probed as I plunged my fingers inside her, feeling the swell of her as her thighs began to tremble. She began to pant out my name to the rhythm of my fingers, faster and faster. Then, for a moment she was silent as her head snapped back on the pillow. I thought something was wrong until she emitted a howl as another orgasm revealed itself.
Later as we lay in each other’s arms, I murmured a thank-you. She laughed and sighed contentedly. “It’s me who should be thanking you. I just knew you were a natural.”
When we got back to Belfast, Susan insisted on walking me to the café. It was late and the entrance to the apartment was via a secluded alleyway. She wanted to come in to talk to my parents about me joining her family vacation, but I wouldn’t allow it. I was afraid they would see how everything had changed between Susan and me. She promised to come to the café the next day and then kissed me good night. The kiss was swift and chaste; we had to be careful, but our tight embrace betrayed our true intentions. We heard a foot scrape some loose stones. It was my father. I don’t know how long he had been standing there, what he had heard or seen. Susan opened her mouth to speak but he was upon us in one motion, sweeping her aside and shoving o
pen the apartment door. He threw me inside, a snarl of disgust on his lips. He manhandled Susan along the alley, and I heard her protest that if he didn’t let her go she would call the police. That was July 1986. Susan and I have not seen or spoken to each other since that night.
That’s how I’ve come to be in Swallow Bay today, led by memories almost thirty years old. I don’t know if Susan’s family still live here, it’s just the place where everything finally came right before it unraveled again. For all I know, Susan flew in for her graduation and is on a plane on her way back home. It would be nice to think that she would have called into Café Bianchi. She might even be there right now. If she is, then she will find it just as she left it, the décor intact and now fashionably retro-chic. The young staff are not Italian but the produce is. If she asks about me, they will tell her that I no longer work in the café but manage the ice cream side of the business, overseeing the ever-expanding Bianchi brand. But she probably won’t do any of this. Why would she? She has probably forgotten all about me. I wish I knew more about her. The dust jackets of every one of her novels offer the same maddeningly scant information: born in Swallow Bay, educated at the Queen’s University of Belfast and resident of Puglia.
Puglia. That’s the bit that breaks my heart, to know that Susan lives in the town where I was born and lived until I left for Ireland. I’d love to know why she chose there of all places. She doesn’t use social media, I’ve checked. Perhaps I could write to her via her publisher, but what would I say? I would want to know why she disappeared from my life and what part my father played in it. I never knew what he said to her that night, what threats were made. She never came back to the café, or if she did then we were deliberately kept apart. I know now that I should have acted differently that night. I reacted with a misplaced, unnecessary guilt, and it revealed itself to my father just enough for him to use it to shame me into submission.
Over the next days, weeks and months, he bombarded me with insults, and my poor mother’s depression meant she was powerless to challenge him. It was when he resorted to one of his old taunts that I finally found the key to my liberation.
“D-d-d-dyke. You’re a bloody d-d-d-dyke!”
I slapped him. Once, hard. In the few moments that he was shocked into silence the scales were lifted from my eyes.
“Are you jealous, Papa? Jealous that she wanted me and not you? That’s the last time you will ever goad me about who or what I am. And you will never again mock how I speak.”
I never spoke to my father again. He lived for another few years but by then I had been to university and earned my business degree. I inherited the café when Mama died and I began to transform the Bianchi name into a major ice-cream brand.
I return to the city, to a beautiful summer’s afternoon brimming with promise. I decide to pay Café Bianchi a visit. I stroll down the leafy tree-lined avenue, thinking of the times when Susan walked beside me. Her life force had brought opportunity and light into my dull little world. Perhaps I will write to her publisher, what harm could it do? It would be good to meet her again, to sit and talk in my mother tongue; to acknowledge the wonderful changes she brought to my life. When I enter the café, the young waiter beams at me from behind the counter.
“Hi, Miss Bianchi.”
“Hi, Steve. How’s business today?”
“Splendid as always. Here, I have something for you.”
I watch as he reaches behind him to lift an envelope from the shelf. He turns and hands it to me. “I didn’t know you had such famous friends.”
I stare at him for a moment as his words sink in. I nod, barely able to speak.
I take the envelope to one of the little tables and sit down.
Steve goes back to his duties. I turn the blank envelope over and over in my hands; it could be meant for anyone. I open it. Inside is a single sheet of paper. I recognize the flamboyant scrawl. It begins: Mi Carina….
PLEDGE NIGHT
Radclyffe
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked Kari for probably the hundredth time in the last hour. The whole thing had seemed like such a good idea until I really thought about what it meant for a straight girl to pledge a lesbian sorority, even though the sorority made a point of being open to all. If that was true, why was the initiation so secret? I mean, like cloak-and-dagger secret. Tonight was the official pledge night, and we didn’t know where we were going, who would be there or what would happen. What if Kari hated whatever it was that was coming? No pun intended.
Kari slammed her hands on her size one gymnast hips and gave me the evil eye. Her coffee-and-cream complexion always flushed to a lovely cocoa color when she was pissed. She looked ready for whipped cream and chocolate shavings right about now. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’ll be fine. It’s not like I don’t know what you get up to in bed. You’ve been telling me since we were fifteen.”
Well, yeah, okay. That’s what best friends did, right, shared the highs and lows of high school dating, including the sex and broken hearts? Besides, Kari knew about the first girl I ever had a crush on—her. We’d gotten as far as kissing a few times before she let me down easy.
“You’re a great kisser,” she’d told me when we were lying on top of my covers fully clothed one night after soccer practice. We’d been practicing kissing for a couple of weeks, and I spent a lot of time fantasizing about what happened next. I hadn’t gotten to try any of the scenarios I’d fantasized about yet, but Kari had always been able to read me really well and knew what I was picturing. “But you know,” she said, “I don’t think I want you to be my girlfriend.”
My heart felt like applesauce in my chest, crushed and pulpy. I didn’t say anything because if I opened my mouth I’d probably make embarrassing whimpering sounds.
She kissed me again, gently, sweetly. “You’re my best friend, and I bet if we had sex, it would be amazing. I’m pretty sure I’m bi for you, but the rest of the time, not so much, and you know—I kind of like the wanting part best.”
Weirdly, that seemed to make it okay. She wanted me, and I knew she’d always love me. Ditto for me, and here we were. Best friends and still hot for each other.
I studied her annoyed and totally gorgeous face. She had almond-shaped dark eyes, high slanted cheekbones and a wide sensuous mouth. She was movie-star beautiful, at least I’d always thought so. “You’re not just pledging because you love me?”
She tried to keep looking mad, but she burst out laughing. “I think it’ll be a trip for us to be in that sorority together. Everybody knows it’s a cool place to be. And yeah, I do like being where you are.” She gave me a little hip bump. “You’re such a dork, and I don’t trust you by yourself.”
I laughed. She knew all about my romantic foibles and failures and near disasters over the years. But hey, now I was almost nineteen and experienced. Mature. Totally unprepared for whatever was coming. I took her hand and mumbled, “I think I’d be scared out of my pants to do this without you.”
She gave my hand a little tug and sent me a pretend kiss. “Honey, you’re going to be out of your pants one way or the other tonight.”
My throat was dry. “Yeah, I think that might be what I’m afraid of.”
“Well, you’re the lesbian. You ought to know what it’s all about.”
“That’s the whole point of the initiation. No one knows what it’s all about—at least no one who will talk about it. All I know is, we have to go through this step in order to finalize our pledge.”
“Right,” Kari said, “it’s like a hazing, but they don’t call it that. It’s a rite of passage. They probably make us… You know,” she said with a questioning lilt in her voice, “I don’t actually have any idea what they might do.”
“Or have us do,” I muttered.
“I guess we’ll find out soon.” Kari glanced at her watch.
“Because they’re supposed to pick us up right about—”
On cue, a knock sounded at the door of the dorm r
oom we shared.
I opened it and two women, one dark and one light, one brown eyed, one blue, stood shoulder to shoulder filling the frame. The blonde’s slightly curly hair was down to her shoulders, and she wore an aqua-blue dress that hugged her curvy body, plunged between her breasts and ended just barely south of her ass. The brunette, taller and slimmer than the bombshell blonde, looked dangerously debonair in a black tuxedo shirt, black belt and tailored black silk trousers. Our ushers for the evening.
The blonde smiled at me, her blue eyes frankly appraising. “Larson?”
I nodded, found my voice. “Yes.”
“I’m Shar.”
Kari came up beside me and, like she often did, rested her hand on the small of my back, answering sweetly to save me further humiliation. “Hi. I’m Kari.”
The brunette took Kari’s free hand, raised it to her mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Hello.” Her voice was buttery smooth, rich and deep. “I’m Paulie. I’ll be your guide tonight.”
I waited for Kari’s response. She could still back out. I wouldn’t blame her. The whole idea was probably crazy to begin with.
Kari hooked her fingers around Paulie’s forearm and stepped up beside her. “I can’t wait to get started.”
We followed Shar and Paulie into the elevator and rode silently down to the lobby and out into the parking lot. We buckled up, slid on blindfolds, and someone started the engine.
When we parked, Shar told us we could remove the blindfolds. “Let’s go, lovelies,” she said.
Kari and I followed the two sorority sisters down the ramp and into the boathouse. I was surprised to see at least a dozen other women, some of whom I knew by name, others only by sight, already gathered in a loose group in the center of the big space. I recognized six of the senior sorority sisters in addition to our ushers. I counted the pledges again. There were sixteen of us. A two-to-one ratio. I wondered if that meant anything.
