At the time, I figured it was easier to accept an invitation to an exclusive club for well-off lesbians from your ex-teammate while getting hammered at your going-away party for the olive branch it was. I never expected I’d actually go, though.
I didn’t even have time to take off my shoes before Olivia was back in my face.
“Were all the women there smoking hot and filthy rich?” she asked eagerly.
I thought of the designer dresses with swooping necks and propped breasts decked out in pricey jewelry. I smirked. “Maybe.”
That earned me a punch to the shoulder. “Don’t be like that! I spent all day coding for douchebags in The Uncanny Silicon Valley, worrying whether or not you were gonna get laid. I think I deserve to know if the great Jackie Dunn made a love connection at some super-secret scissoring speakeasy.”
“Jesus Christ, Liv. Seriously, it’s nothing.” I picked invisible dirt from my nails and chose my next words very carefully. “I did meet someone, though. A singular smoking hot, filthy rich woman.”
Her eyes lit up. “Who?”
I went to answer, but stopped myself. Gwen’s words about the women of The Rose having an understanding in keeping each other’s secrets echoed in my head.
“Just someone. I really don’t think I can say. It is a super-secret scissoring speakeasy, after all.”
She pouted. “Fine, fine. Will you be meeting this someone again?”
I flopped back on the couch with an oof. I curled my feet under me and flipped the TV to a men’s college basketball game.
“You know, I don’t know. She didn’t give me her number or anything. We just talked. I don’t know if I’ll even go back there.”
She frowned. “What? Why not? It sounds like you had fun.”
Did I have fun? I’d spent most of the time there feeling awkward and out of place. All the women there were so beautiful; elegant, suave, confident. They looked like they belonged there. Even in my nicest press day pantsuit, I had felt like a piece of coal in a room full of diamonds.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye and tried for a casual shrug that I definitely didn’t pull off. “I mean, I am a little rusty . . . social-wise.”
She snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
I snorted too. She wasn’t wrong. After leaving the Sonics, I had all but shut down. My personal life had taken a major hit with physical therapy and retirement and the fallout of it all. It was only after Olivia contacted me after six months of depressive wallowing looking for a place to crash while interning at a tech company that I started to connect with people again at all, few and far in between as it was.
Years later, I’d found the card for The Rose collecting dust at the bottom of one of my old duffels. The embellishments had still been dark and subtle, intimacy captured on three-inch cardstock. I called it pure chance. Olivia had called it kismet. Then she shoved the card in my hand and pushed me out the door like a mama bird kicking her socially awkward, reclusive baby from the nest.
But had going been worth it? The image of Gwen’s teasing smile burst into full Technicolor in my brain.
“I did have fun,” I said decidedly. “But . . . I still don’t know.”
“You need to be social, Jay.” My face scrunched up at the word “social,” and she zeroed in on it. “Oh, don’t give me that look! Trust me, I love that you’re always available to sit at home and binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with me, but you can’t keep yourself cooped up forever. It’s created toxic energy. Your life has been at a standstill for too long. Don’t you ever feel even a little bit… cabin fever-y?”
I rolled my eyes and slouched further into the couch. This was a conversation we have had many times over the years, and would probably be having many more in years to come. I knew she meant well. That didn’t stop me from feeling like crap every time the subject came up, though.
I forced a chuckle. “I thought you liked watching Grey’s Anatomy with me?”
That at least got a smile out of her. “I do. You know I do, even if your opinions on it are often terrible. But you should be watching Grey’s with other people, too. Doesn’t have to be fancy women . . . though maybe your mystery lady–”
Oh, we were not about to do this. “Don’t you have a séance you have to crash?”
She hurled a pillow at my head.. I swatted it out of the way with an indignant huff.
“I’ve told you a million times,” she huffed, “I practice positive life energy, not witchcraft!”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t comment. Olivia was right about my limited social circle. My circle of friends, while bigger than it had been immediately after leaving the league, was still abysmal. Besides Olivia, there were maybe three other people I spent time with, all sparingly. For a while, I had been able to convince myself that was by my own design. That after years of fans and reporters in my face, I just wanted the intimacy that came with a small friend circle. That had been a lie—and a poor one, at that. You could only hide yourself away in your house for so long until you looked up realized you weren’t keeping people out, you were keeping yourself in.
I wished I could be more like Olivia: fearless, self-assured, friendly. Fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been fun. That was why I took The Rose’s card, put on my cleanest suit, and threw myself into the deep end. Re-learning how to be fun, Jackie Dunn style.
I flipped over to Hulu and queued up the next episode of Grey’s. “Sorry, sorry, oh wise life guru. And you know what? You’re probably right. You’re right about most things most of the time. But for right now, I’d rather see if there’s any fallout from Jackson hooking back up with his ex-wife.”
I didn’t anticipate the flying projectile this time.
“Spoilers! God!”
Despite the prickly rush of anxiety I couldn’t get the club or its smiling, beautiful women out of my mind, and after a week of waffling I decided to venture back to The Rose. This time I let Olivia fuss over my closet until she found some that I, quote, “wouldn’t look like an attractive drifter who just looted a Nordstrom’s” in.
I got to The Rose around eight o’clock that night. Deciding I could use the extra help in loosening up, and remember the amused smile Gwen had sported at my Sprite can, I bypassed the soda in favor of Scotch. It burned going down and reminded me why I hated alcohol.
But the liquid courage was needed tonight. I set up residence at a table in the back, just as I had last time. This far back gave me a full view of the room. The women here really were beautiful. More than that, they looked right, somehow. Happy, comfortable. Liked they belonged. They made it look so easy. Why couldn’t I get it right?
My eyes drifted across the room, scanning for a familiar face. There was no way of knowing if Gwen was here today. Hell, there was no way of knowing if she would even remember me, let alone want to talk to me again. When she’d sat down that first time and started to flirt, I had been too dumbstruck by her beauty and interest to make much of an impression myself.
I groaned and refrained from slamming my head on the desk in defeat. So much for getting back out there.
As if on cue, the familiar silhouette of a tightly coiffed afro came into view. I instantly sat up straighter in my seat. That was her all right, giving bitchy and well-sexed housewife vibes out like candy. Should I wave her over? Go over and reintroduce myself? Pack up and go home for another night of Grey’s because I hadn’t picked anyone up successfully in years and most likely was not going to start tonight?
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Gwen made the decision for me. She caught my eye and a wide smile spread across her purple-painted lips. I found myself smiling back instinctively. Oh fuck, but she was captivating.
She strode across the room, sun dress blowing like a cape around her in the cool breeze from the overhead fans. It was almost ridiculous how put together she was. Ridiculous, and incredibly hot.
When she reached my table, she drummed purple fingernails across the surface. Last time we�
��d spoken, both her lips and her nails had been pink.
“Well, well, well,” she said, teasing and flirty. “Fancy seeing you here again.”
“Fancy that,” I parroted lamely. Christ, this was going to be a very short conversation, wasn’t it? “It’s a small club. No champagne today?”
Her dark eyes sparkled with mirth. “Not unless you want to buy me one. Mind if I sit?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she pulled up a seat. I smiled at the expectant look on her face as her eyes darted pointedly from my glass to my face.
“One champagne coming right up.”
I got up from the table and headed over to the bar. As I waited for the order, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it and rolled my eyes when the first thing I saw was an excessive use of punctuation.
Olivia: Is she there??? If she’s there don’t forget to get a number this time!!!
Rather than trying to think of a witty reply to that, or making a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep yet, I shoved the phone back into my pocket and made my way back to the table, drink in hand.
I slide into the available seat next to her and presented the glass to Gwen with a flourish. “One glass of champagne. I didn’t know what kind you drink, so I got the most expensive kind they had. Figured it was a safe bet.”
“Are you saying I’m a gold digger, or are you just trying to impress me?”
I blanched, sure I had fucked up for real this time, but Gwen just laughed. Openmouthed and unrestrained. It made me feel like I was glowing from head to toe.
“How are things on the campaign trail?” I asked instead of answering.
She lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. A pleased smile sat on the edge of her glass. “I’m surprised you remembered.”
Truth be told, I had spent the better part of last night Googling everything I could about Jeffrey Crawford and his hot campaign manager to prepare for possibly seeing her again. She didn’t need to know about that, though.
“You left an impression,” I replied smoothly. “Plus, managing an entire campaign is a really big detail. Kind of hard to forget.”
“Technically I’m not running the entire campaign, but I am who they call when they need someone to do the dirty work. But, things have been going pretty smoothly. We were running unopposed until this hotshot local car dealership magnate named Henry Olsten got involved—you’ve probably seen his tacky billboards around. Jeffrey is confident our constituents won’t fall for the kind of alt-right rhetoric that got Trump elected, but he has more faith in people than I do.”
I nodded. “So he really used to be a Republican, huh? The congressman. Your ex.”
The same guarded look Gwen had given me when she explained her marriage situation fell into place. “That’s right.”
“Were you?”
“Oh, God no.” Her nose wrinkled as if I’d just asked her to go kick dogs with me and have Hawaiian pizza afterward. “I’ve been a card-carrying member of the DNC since I was eighteen. I went to my first Halloween dance in high school as Senator Hillary Clinton. Jeffrey himself wised up after we got together.”
“You dated him when he was a Republican?” I blurted. I wasn’t sure if the question fell into dangerous territory or not. The way Gwen’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly told me I was in the clear.
“We met in college. I was stumping for the Young Democrats, he was stumping for the College Republicans. It was during the gubernatorial election of 1998. Davis versus that weaselly little fuck Lungren, remember?”
“Uh, I might have been a bit too young for politics in 1998.”
She groaned. “You’re gonna make a habit out of making me feel old as fuck, aren’t you?”
I grinned. “No promises.”
“Anyway, back then, UCLA let us have these pitching tables on campus where each group could stump for their candidate of choice. As those things typically go, both groups started to argue. I zeroed in on him, and he fought back. I liked that, the fight. It’s kind of my thing.”
She lifted up her glass and winked. The devious little smirk on her round face was as dissonant as it was fitting. Would I get to go a full conversation with this woman without constantly being struck by how beautiful she was? (Sources said no.)
I shook myself subtly and smiled. “So you like fighting, huh? Weird mating ritual.”
That startled a laugh out of Gwen. I let the wave of satisfaction at breaking the look of measured control wash over me for the second time in a row. It felt like winning something.
“God, nothing like that. I’m a lesbian, through and through. Took me a bit to realize that, of course.” She sighed and swiped her index finger over the smudge of purple lipstick on the edge of her glass. “Unfortunately, that was only after I’d said yes to a first date, and yes to a proposal. We got divorced almost five years ago. We’re still on good terms, obviously. He’s my best friend. That’s it, though.”
It occurred to me that Gwen was stressing her situation purposefully. She wanted me to know she was completely unattached. This beautiful, slightly terrifying woman was giving me an opening.
And I was so embarrassingly out of practice that I didn’t know the first thing to do with it.
“I could never do something like that,” I blurted.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Date a man or a Republican?”
“Date a Republican. I’ve dated a man before. Well, if you can call what me and Peter Wojciechowski did in fifth grade ‘dating.’”
“I agree that most Republicans are, at best, outdated dinosaurs in a permanent friends-with-benefits fuck spiral with Ayn Rand’s decrepit corpse, but not all are the same. Or, I should say, not all were the same, back then. Sometimes it’s nice to have a balance of views when they’re in the right place. Jeffrey was a good example of that. Plus he was easy to be with at the time. Low effort.”
“I . . . okay, yeah. That makes sense. I suppose it doesn’t matter. When you get down to it, Republicans and Democrats are all the same.”
“You don’t really think that, do you?”
I hunched my shoulders, feeling wrong-footed and on the spot.“Why wouldn’t I? It’s true, isn’t it? I mean, look at where we are now. I guess I don’t think we’d be here if any of the people we elected actually gave a crap.”
I could tell by the look that flickered across her face that I had finally done what I was afraid I would all night: said exactly the wrong thing. Truth was, I didn’t know much about politics, as privileged as that sounded.
I did know, however, know what it was like to be a kid growing up Orange Cove where it hardly mattered if the person in charge was red or blue, the wheels of change never turned at all. It was hard to care about something that has never really affected you.
“No offense, but you just learned your congressman’s name, what, a week ago? If you haven’t been putting in an effort to get engaged, you can’t complain about lack of change. Do you even vote, Jackie?”
The air had turned tense in what felt like only a handful of seconds. I could have dropped it there. I should drop it there. Here I was, talking to a glamorous, attractive woman—a glamorous, attractive woman who was interested in me—and all I had managed to do was piss her off. Cutting my losses and letting it go would be a smart move. I didn’t even have to salvage what was left of whatever it is. Olivia would just have to make those Sorry You’re Terrible With Women conciliatory cupcakes. Again.
But I hadn’t won MVP by backing down from challenges—and, well, old habits die hard.
My mouth flew off before I could catch myself. “Just because your job is to blindly support politicians who make bank off fucking with the rest of us doesn’t mean you’re right and I’m wrong.”
Gwen barked a humorless laugh. “Oh, that is rich coming from the woman who wouldn’t know local politics if it blocked her in the paint. Goodbye.”
She knocked back the rest of her glass, managing to look just as elegant doing that as she seemingly did everything else, infuriatin
gly enough, before slamming it back down. She reached into her purse and threw a couple of bills on the table.
With one last pointed look my way, she was out of her seat and disappearing into the throng of women on the floor. My anger began to drain out of me with every step she took until she was completely out of sight. By the time I couldn’t see her anymore, I was left with an empty feeling of guilt.
Wow. Just wow. I really blew it, didn’t I? When I failed romantically, I didn’t just bomb. I obliterated myself.
I pulled out my phone to call a Lyft and was met with a scrolling list of increasingly noisy texts from Olivia. I swiped a random one open and texted back.
Jackie: no go. I jackie’d all over everything. ready the cupcakes, stat
My phone buzzed in quick succession as Olivia fired off a flurry of what were no doubt concerned texts. I turned back toward the door, as if Gwen would burst back in with that teasing smirk and tell me it was all an elaborate joke.
But of course she didn’t. I drowned the rest of my drink and headed back to the bar.
Three
Gwen
With a little over six months left in the election, it was time to start hitting the talk shows. Rita and I set up a block of friendly anchors to start the election off on fluff and familiarity.
Jeffrey, of course, blew the news cycle on its ass. He was poised, charming, and remembered all of his talking points without sounding rehearsed or robotic, which, for a politician, was a pretty impressive feat.
To celebrate, I swung by his place to break out the macaroons and celebratory wine. Jeffrey must have picked up on my ulterior motive for the selection, because he didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow as I filled two glasses and knocked them both back one after the other.
We settled onto the couch with a DVR’d rerun of his interview turned low. We sipped in companionable silence before I decided to breach it.
“I met a woman the other day.”
He raised both brows. “Oh?”
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