by Fox Brison
“Shut up!” I laughed and slapped her arm.
“Have you thought about maybe having to kiss her?” I couldn’t stop the heat entering my cheeks. “Oh my god, you already have,” she yelped.
“It just kind of happened.” I stared into the mirror. Ashleigh was lying on my bed in a pose she’d performed a million times. “It’s weird. I’ve never felt what you said you have with Malcom,” I mused wistfully.
“I should hope not. First he’s a man and second he’s my husband.”
“You know what I mean.” I threw the teddy bear my mam bought me for my twenty first birthday at her and then refocussed. “Yet the merest insinuation of a kiss with Adele had me a little hot and bothered.” I lie. I was a lot hot and bothered. I’d struggled with my sexuality for a long time (I did the whole denial and boyfriend route first) and even though I still hadn’t experienced that pit of your stomach heightened emotional state of true love with a woman, I knew I never would with a man.
“You have to put it in context. You’re grateful to her, she could have had your mam put away but she didn’t. Just don’t confuse gratitude with affection.”
It was sage advice which I had every intention of heeding.
Chapter 14
Adele
Friday night arrived within the blink of an eye. I’d spoken to Joanne twice, briefly, since the meeting in my office, primarily to ensure she wasn’t going to stand me up. Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in my dark blue pant suit, the limo I hired slowed outside the address she’d given me. I wasn’t usually a fan of such largesse, but even though I didn’t want to admit it, I was attempting to impress. The time was 5.57 precisely. Beep beep beeeep. Imitating the speaking clock calmed me. And yes I realised it was weird, but each to their own. I’d impersonate Big Ben if it meant retaining my sanity at the moment.
I was still having trouble swallowing the fact Joanne and I had reached this stage, and I half expected to wake up in a cold sweat at any minute.
Joanne lived on the housing estate equivalent of a Dalmatian; white pebble dashed buildings of the eighties, interspersed with the brown stone examples from the fifties. Her front garden was neat and the concrete path owned a smart honour guard of petunias and pansies. The white pvc door, with it’s central oval of bevelled glass waited innocuously at the top. It wasn’t the wardrobe into Narnia, nor a portal leading straight to the dungeon of doom. It was a wormhole to a parallel universe and the embellished fleur de lys in the middle permitted me a glimpse of an image that I’d created.
Warped yet beautiful. Twisted but hopeful.
Joanne opened the door and her radiance put even the flowers, nature’s most beguiling creations, to shame. She had adorned her make up with a light hand and her hair was coiled into a loose bun perched haphazardly on top of her head. It could have looked scruffy but instead it appeared… refined. I let my gaze wander slowly down her body and back up again. She owned an air of poise and elegance that I didn’t deserve on my arm. “That shade of green suits you.” As did the style of dress. Cinched at the waist with a fine lace floral pattern covering the skirt. The top was held up by two thick straps, which dipped teasingly down towards her cleavage. My eyes quickly snapped back up. Do not ogle cleavage.
“Easy with the compliments there, Don Juan,” she said sarcastically, but the pink hue that decorated her cheeks was far more effective than any blush. I recognised the woman standing next to her from the scene of the crash. “This is my friend Ashleigh McLaughlin.” Joanne introduced us.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ashleigh.” I offered my hand for her to shake but she left me hanging. She finally took it in a limp lettuce kind of way, like I had leprosy and she was worried that by touching me she’d be affected by my affliction.
“I brought Joanne an accessory to finish off her outfit. Pepper for her purse,” Ashleigh explained, a tad sarcastically.
“Oh she won’t need that. The hotel’s chef is Michelin starred. I’m sure the food will be perfectly seasoned.” I smiled and held out my arm, curious as to why I was being viewed with twin countenances of bewilderment. What? Did they think Cameron, Shaw and Carlisle would entertain clients down the local boozer with sandwiches and cheese and onion crisps?
Joanne didn’t take my arm so I wiggled it in the style of the funky chicken. Smooth, Adele, real smooth. “Ready?”
“A limo? Really? Can anyone say overkill?” Okay it was clear Joanne had plumped for the ‘I’m going to make this as torturous as possible,’ main course option on the menu this evening, followed by the ‘I hate you,’ torte.
“The company are paying for it so I thought why not. Plus this way I can have a drink.”
“Awkward,” her friend sang.
“Awkward?” My brow furrowed. Why was it… oh. Right. “Joanne, I’m sorry I wasn’t being-”
“Yes you were.”
In an interesting turn of events, seemingly being a bitch came so naturally to me that even when I was attempting to be courteous and genial, I came across as a complete harridan.
***
“So tonight is important,” Joanne began once we pulled away. It was amazing how many people came out of their homes and stood gawking as we passed. Maybe they thought Rod Stewart had got lost on his way to Celtic Park. Some of the kids even waved!
“Incredibly so,” I stressed. The ‘date’ hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts, so I attempted to get it back on track. “Joanne, I understand this arrangement is unusual but it will be unbearable if we continue to harp at each other. I apologise in advance for anything I say that might offend. I don’t mean to.”
“Seriously? You find it impossible to control your tongue?” she snapped.
“My tongue is extremely proficient when I need it to be!” I shot back. Then blushed. Did that sound like a come on?
“I’m sure it is,” she smirked, my embarrassment apparently a source of amusement. “So tell me about this promotion.” The lights in the back of the limo reflected in Joanne’s eyes and they sparkled like emeralds, mesmerising me.
“It’s in New York,” I blurted out, because all of a sudden the only thing I could think about was how I’d quite happily look into those eyes for hours on end.
“Impressive.”
“I think so. It was in the bag until… anyway Adam proposed a date might neutralise my acerbity, I guess.”
“Perhaps I should have brought sugar spray instead of pepper spray.”
Ahh the crazy looks now made sense. Have I come across that evil she thinks she needs a weapon?
She continued, oblivious to my dismay. “Who’s your competition?”
I quickly recovered enough of my aplomb to carry on our conversation. The remainder languished five minutes in the past and was struggling to catch up. “Her name’s Aileen Entwhistle; she’s super nice,” I said in a mock American accent.
“And you’re being super sarcastic.”
“Yes and no. She and her wife, Helen, are like the Wonder Twins. Flowers grow at their feet with every step they take.”
“I see…” Joanne drawled then paused, eyeing me curiously.
“What is it?” I asked.
“There’s something I don’t understand. You’re smart and beautiful, so how come you have to ask a complete stranger to be your date for the night?”
Beautiful? My hand reached for my scarf. “I prefer my own company. I’ve never found relationships easy to come by,” I blustered.
“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong places,” she suggested.
“What do you mean?” I’d tried going to lesbian bars, briefly joined an internet dating agency, and even allowed Gem to set me up on a blind date. Where else could I look?
“Have you tried Siberia?” She smiled, and I was having trouble following her drift.
Siberia? “Are you proposing I order myself a Russian mail order bride?”
“No I’m suggesting you might have more luck with someone used to frosty conditions,” was the smart riposte
.
I sighed. This was a bloody stupid idea. I should have just called the police and be done with it. I contemplated telling the limo driver to turn around there and then, but in that second of hesitation, the promotion became secondary; the foremost thought was that I was determined to persevere, if only to show Joanne I wasn’t a complete bitch. My brows furrowed. Why on earth should I care what she thinks of me?
“You think I’m cold? Perhaps you’re right and perhaps I’m sick of people wanting to change me, trying to mould me into something I’m not. Bullying me.”
Her eyes widened. “It sounds like you’ve been in some pretty unhealthy relationships. When you’re in love it shouldn’t feel like that. It’s not changing, or moulding and certainly not bullying… it’s evolving.” She smiled enigmatically, like she knew a secret and wasn’t willing to share.
“Claptrap,” I said curtly.
“Everyone compromises some small part of themselves. It shows you care, that you acknowledge your partner’s needs are important.” Her pontificating should have come across as self-righteous, but she somehow managed to avoid that pitfall.
Compromise myself for another? I did enough of that as a child and wouldn’t countenance it as an adult. The conversation was cutting a little close to the bone. Sparkling repartee it was not. “Much as I have loved this little tête-à-tête, I’m going to reiterate one crucial point. You’re not here to give me relationship advice. Your only job tonight is to make me look good. Fuck this up and my career is toast. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Joanne said shortly.
The car drew to a luxurious stop outside the hotel. “Okay, so we’re good? Joanne? Good?”
“We’re good, Adele.”
Taking her hand, I entwined her fingers with mine. And there it was again, the thrill of being close to this woman. What the hell was going on?
Definitely should have called the damned police.
Chapter 15
Joanne
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get a read on Adele. I thought we were making progress in the car; with one conversation it felt like she was warming up, the next her eyes were so icy and brooding I’m losing my extremities through frostbite. It caused me to step back a little. Actually, it made me moonwalk for a mile and then duck for cover.
The hotel was stunning, old world and thankfully free from tartan. Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against tartan per se, and even have a kilt in my clan pattern from when I was seven and my gran thought I should take up Scottish dancing. But it was often used in excess. Ashleigh and I stayed at a small hotel on the west coast last summer, and the lobby looked like someone binge ate tartan and then vomited it everywhere. Lampshades, chair coverings, rugs… even the fireside coal bucket. It left me with a migraine, especially having to wake up facing flock tartan wallpaper.
Adele and I made our way into a smaller function room where the event was being held and I stopped stock still. It was beautiful. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the circular tables wore sharp snowy tablecloths which were laden with crystal glasses, white china and silver cutlery. In the middle of each place setting sat a serviette and I smiled. There’s the tartan! We stood on thick midnight blue carpet, which gave way to highly polished hardwood flooring, and central to all of this was a large square dance floor. Wait staff circulated with complimentary glasses of champagne and tiny appetisers.
I felt like a princess.
If nothing else, I would enjoy tonight because it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before (I didn’t make my school prom) or likely would again.
I doubted another lesbian architect would proposition me at the site of a car crash. But if she did, after seeing this place, I reckon I’d be far less resistant.
“Adele, I’ll be right back,” I said quietly. “I have to visit the ladies.”
“It’s beside the reception desk where we came in. Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.
“I’m sure I can find it. Don’t worry I won’t do a moonlight flit; I haven’t eaten since breakfast and those canapes look delicious.” I tempered my words with a wry smile.
I found the bathroom easily enough, and after a few minutes of gathering myself I exited the cubicle, ready, relatively, to take on whatever Cameron, Shaw and whoever threw at me. I was no longer alone; a stunning woman, immaculately dressed in a flawlessly fitting (and no doubt) designer gown was applying lippy in front of the large mirrors. She was smiling at something her friend whispered in her ear… I narrowed my eyes sure I recognised… and then it came to me. The whisperer was Mackenzie, the woman who flew from Adele’s office in tears. She was equally as impressively attired and I immediately felt drab in my cheap Matalan special.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t ready to face whoever after all.
“Hi, I’m Helen and this is Mackenzie. We saw you come in with Adele Jackson. You should get a medal for bravery!” Helen chuckled. However, it wasn’t a nice laugh, it reminded me of how the popular girls at school would laugh in the bathrooms, and this put my back up straightaway. She also had a look of them; perfectly coiffed wavy blonde hair, held firmly in place by enough hairspray to delete half the ozone layer, legs up to her ocksters, and I was sure she was wearing coloured contacts because, damn, no one’s eyes were that shade of electric blue.
“Either that or you’re a masochist,” Mackenzie added; there was that cackle again. Was it module one of the bitch curriculum? Adele may not have been an angel but as far as they were concerned I was her girlfriend and they were dissing her to my face.
Not cool.
“We’re only joking,” Mackenzie made a lazy attempt to excuse their behaviour as banter. “Adele is just… On second thoughts, maybe you should escape whilst you still can!”
Well that was short lived, I snorted, as Mackenzie quickly stopped the pretence that she gave a damn. I was never part of the in crowd at school, in fact when I was younger I was the proverbial bad girl, smoking round the back of the bike sheds, mouthing off to teachers, one step away from being knocked up… I smiled when I remembered writing down my feelings when I was coming to terms with my sexuality. Number four on my list of ‘best things about being a lesbian’ was no accidental pregnancies.
“Oh I don’t know, Adele’s a teddy bear when you get to know her,” I said, surprisingly sincerely.
“I’ll take you word for it. So tell me, how did the two of you meet?” Helen began applying even more bright red lipstick to her inflated pout. Seriously, British Airways could have used them as a flotation device.
For the plane.
“My mother was in an accident and Adele came to her rescue.” Which was the truth, I acknowledged with a jolt. Yes Adele’s request was a little bizarre and I was a touch uncomfortable, but far less so than if my mother had been arrested. Instead of resenting Adele, I should be thanking my lucky stars; I wasn’t angry with her, I was taking my anger out on her.
“Really?” Mackenzie scoffed nastily. “She’s usually the one you need saving from!”
“Excuse me?” I said snarkily.
“Never mind.” Helen’s eyes widened and she grabbed Mackenzie’s arm.
“I’d better get back. Adele may be a teddy bear but there are far too many wannabe Goldilockses who’d love a spoonful of mah honey.” I laid it on thicker than the foundations for one of Adele’s tower blocks, but I really wasn’t partial to the vibe I was getting from these women. Helen’s eyes were more calculating than a super computer, and the edge to Mackenzie’s tone was so sharp and nasty it would cause infected welts three inches deep.
“Hey.” I slipped my hand back into Adele’s. I needed her touch to feel grounded after meeting the harpies. I was out of my element, not only because the people in this room were not the sort I usually socialised with, but the whole pretend girlfriend subterfuge was making me bilious.
And I couldn’t afford to throw a sickie, not on this job!
Chapter 16
Adele
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Most people at the ball expected me to be alone and cavalier, because in all fairness, I habitually lived down to their expectations. It wasn’t hard, they held the bar real low and I had no problem limboing under it. However, Joanne raised it to world record heights and I strolled under it with inches to spare.
She charmed the birds from the trees, starting with Adam’s wife, Mel; the two of them were nattering like old friends at their fifteen year school reunion. Standing at the bar, I took the time to observe her movements. Her head thrown back in laughter, the obvious attention she paid whomever she was with, the way her body swayed… “Flawless,” I muttered.
“Excuse me?” the barman bent down towards me.
“Oh… uhmm… two orange juices, please.” I carried the drinks carefully, circumnavigating my colleagues until I reached Joanne. “I thought you might be thirsty,” I whispered into her ear and was delighted when she smiled up at me.
“You read my mind, and not for the first time,” she said with a twinkling laugh.
“Joanne, I thought you said you were allergic to orange juice,” Mel interrupted.
Rabbit/deer/fox… choose whatever animal you like, because I was one of them caught in headlights. I frowned. “I di – ow!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, hun. Did I step on your toes?” Joanne turned her back on Mel and cradled my cheek. For all the world it appeared as if she was showering me with loving attention, but from the press of her foot on mine, I realised I was about to put my foot in it. She widened her eyes to warn me and I winked. Message received. Just. My only regret was that I didn’t catch on before she broke my little toe.
I kissed her cheek sweetly. “I’m sorry, darling, I forgot about the allergy, I’ll run back and get you a…” I hoped and prayed she wasn’t allergic to any other soft drinks; forgetting one allergy was forgivable two was downright suspicious. “Coke?” Straws. Grasping. Hint? I hoped she could read my mind!
“Diet,” she said with a grin. “Naturally.” Her hand trailed down my arm until it reached my hand which she clasped. What did she want again?
