by Sims, Karina
However, today is lucky. Today, the ladies in line aren’t pawing over glossy covers with smirking models they could never look like. No, today the ladies in line are burying their faces inside a newspaper, mouths ringed like they’re sucking a Cheerio. In between swiping items across the counter even the cashier is glancing at a copy lying open beside her. Everyone’s got the paper folded and askew so I can’t really see what’s on the front. The rack where they keep the local newspaper is empty. I stand on my tippy toes for a second, look around then back at the empty tray. I notice there’s a copy crammed at the bottom with the Wall Street Journal. I pick it up and flip it over to the front.
“Model/Waitress Found Slashed In Apartment.” There’s a big color picture of her in her high school graduation robes, blonde, pretty and smiling. Midway through the article are enlarged letters in italic quotation marks “...tied to a chair, arms and legs bound, saran wrap still clinging to her bludgeoned skull. Police estimate she was found three days after time of death. The body was found by a visiting relative, Tuesday. Family beside itself with grief.”
Flipping to the second page, scrolling for some quotations, I read, “We do not understand how this could have happened to someone like our Kimberly. She was friendly, outgoing, kind and warm hearted to all those around her. She and her fiancé had lost a baby to miscarriage last year and it was hard for her dealing with that, but she was getting better, doing better. Kim’s modeling career had really started to take off, she was going to get married next month in Florida... our hearts are broken. But we know she is with God now and this is in His hands. I can’t imagine why any man would want to do this to our poor little Kimberly.”
Beside the article is a sketch of a man police gathered descriptions of from witnesses in the building around the time of Kim’s death. He looks like a fat Mexican traced in pencil.
“Is that everything?”
I look up from the newspaper. “Oh. Yeah, that’s all of it. Thanks.” I give my best smile.
“Psycho.”
My heart skips a full two beats. “What?”
The cashier, she points at the newspaper in my hands, “In there. What a psycho, huh?”
I look at the paper, back at her. “Well, whoever it is, they’ve sure got some serious hang-ups with women.”
X
“Do these jeans make me look fat?”
Carl and I are sitting in big uncomfortable sofa chairs outside the dressing room while Alison tries on clothes. He adjusts his sunglasses and says, “No sweetheart, you look beautiful.”
She frowns into the full length mirror in front of her. “Really?”
“Yeah babe, you look good.”
She turns to me, puts her hands on her hips and grins, “Amanda, what do you think?”
I take the gum out of my mouth and just say what Carl says, “You look good.”
Alison turns back to the mirror, shifting to look at her butt. “Yeah you’re right. I do look damn gorgeous.”
I put the gum back in my mouth and try cracking my neck. “Try those dresses on again.”
Carl slaps the arm of my chair. “Get your own girlfriend.”
Twirling in front of the mirror, Alison is putting her hair up, fish facing to make her lips look bigger. She looks at me in the mirror. “Yeah, why don’t you? I mean you always have some girl taking you home or whatever. I know lots of girls that like you. You know Trisha? The girl I always work with? She’s straight but is always going on and on about you. Why don’t you take her out?”
“I’m not gay.”
Carl takes off his sun glasses, rubs the lenses with his shirt, holds them up to the light on the ceiling and says, “Lesbian then.”
“I’m not a lesbian.”
He puts his glasses back on. “Yeah, and I’m Jesus Christ. Have you ever even slept with a guy?”
“No. So?”
He laughs, slaps both hands on his armrests. “Then there ya go! You are a lesbian.”
“Naw, I’m not a lesbian. I just...I fuck girls.”
A woman comes out of one of the dressing rooms, her hands over a ten year old girl’s ears. She shoots me a scowl and I flick my tongue at her.
Alison keeps fish facing in the mirror. “Well, maybe that’s why they like you then.”
“I have no idea.”
Carl takes off his sunglasses again and looks over at me. “Hey, how is that even possible anyway? Like, how the hell does a girl fuck another girl?”
Alison turns around and frowns at him. “Carl!”
He laughs, “Hey you can’t tell me you’re not wondering the same thing. Seriously, Amanda, how’s it done? I’m curious. Like with dildos? Because fingers don’t count, guys do that with girls all the time, but that’s not fucking.”
She walks over to Carl and kicks his knee. “Moron! Anything with the word sex in front of it is sex! Like, oral sex, anal sex...”
He rubs his knee and bats at her bum. “Phone sex? Does that mean phone sex counts too? Because it doesn’t, that’s just masturbation.”
She wanders back to the mirror. “Yeah, but that’s not what I mean...”
“Well, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But...”
“Tell me then, how does one girl fuck another girl without a penis, huh? How’s that done exactly?”
She shrugs, looks at her shoes. “I don’t know. What are you asking me for? I’m not the lesbian here. Amanda is.”
“I’m not a lesbian!”
Carl put his sun glasses back on. “Fine you’re not a lesbian then, whatever you are. Now, how do you fuck girls?”
“Me? Gee, that’s a little personal, Carl,” I laugh.
“How does a girl have sex with another girl? I’m not judging you, I’m dead fucking curious is all.”
I drum my fingers on the arm rests, look at Alison looking at me; I look at Carl looking at me. I smile. “Well, it depends really. I think if whatever the two women are doing together causes the other to achieve orgasm through mutual affection, then yeah, that’s sex. I can’t tell you exactly how every couple does it. I mean, there are heterosexual couples in the world that make love to each other in a multitude of ways. Think about the man who struggles with erectile dysfunction, the wife may do something to him that causes him to come without him ever having entered her. And no amount of saying so would deter them from calling what they do ‘making love.’ But I wouldn’t go so far as to make that sexual handicap a comparison to two women having sex with each other, because unlike the man who can’t get a stiffie to pound into his wifey, women do all sorts of things while in bed to exchange pleasure. It’s very typical of masculine thinking to discredit and cast away the idea of women having sex without penal penetration and labeling it as invalid. I think the satisfaction without cock, the idea of contented lesbianism disrupts your male ego and fucks with the concept of the penis as sole pleasure tool.”
“So...what? Dildos then? You guys use dildos then right? Fuck, you know that shit doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes sense, Carl, because it feels good to be penetrated. Our pussies where made to be filled with something, just like dicks were made to be pushed into something. If not dildos or fingers, what should we be putting in there? Naw dude, saying lesbians using dildos is pointless is to say that gay men aren’t really gay either. Because a gay man still fucks a hole, it’s a man’s hole, but it’s still a hole. And just like a pussy it’s tight and warm, or it can be loose and baggy, like I said, just like a pussy.”
He takes his sunglasses off again, absent mindedly cleaning the lenses with his shirt. “So...how do dykes fuck?”
Alison shakes her head. “Carl, you’re a hopeless asshole.”
“No I’m not I’m just curious is all. A lot of people wonder the same thing. If asking is a problem, then clearly there is something shady about the whole thing.”
I scratch my arm. “Yeah, I hear what you’re saying, but isn’t it a little awkward to be asked how you fuck? I
mean wouldn’t it kind of give you the creeps if some old man came grabbing at the back of your t-shirt when you and your girlfriend are walking through a bookstore holding hands and says to you ‘Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude but, how do you two have sex?’ You know what I mean?”
“Bullshit, because: A) you don’t have a girlfriend, and B) nobody has ever done that.”
“True, but when I’m holding the hand of a girl I’m fucking, the way they look at us, it’d be better if they just came out and said it.”
Carl shakes his head. “Lesbians. You guys are so goddamn dramatic.”
“For Christ sakes, I’m not a goddamn lesbian!”
He puts his sunglasses on again and laughs up at the ceiling. “Oh right, right, you’re not a lesbian. You just never fuck guys. Just chicks. Gotcha!”
Alison laughs, slaps her knee. “How is that then?”
“How’s what?”
“How’s it you’re not a dyke but you refuse to sleep with men. Isn’t there some sort of thing against this in the gay community?”
“I’m not in the gay community.”
“What?”
“I said, I’m not...”
“Yeah yeah, I heard that. I just don’t know what the hell you’re getting at with this.”
“Well to be honest, I just don’t see the point?”
“In being gay?”
Carl takes his glasses off, rubs them on his jeans. “Me neither.”
Alison turns back to the mirror and wiggles her hips a little. “Don’t you have any lesbian friends?”
I take the gum out of my mouth. “Jesus, look, I just don’t see the point in marching up and down the street once a year screaming about my sexuality. It’s sort of tacky if you ask me. Yes, it’s nice for some I guess, to have their sexuality made public but in my opinion, walking around Main Street your body covered head to toe in glitter, waving a plastic pride flag in everyone’s faces, it’s just a confirmation of the deep insecurity most homosexuals have. Narcissism and the need for attention is so embedded in the gay culture that it’s sewn itself into the fabric of pride. I know I like women, and I’m not ashamed of it. But I am still my own person and my sexual preference is not who I am, but just another part of myself. I mean, I really love Coca-Cola, does that mean I need to march in a parade for it?”
Carl puts his glasses back on. “Well, if you really hate Pepsi, then yes. You do.”
“Look, all I’m saying is, I like girls but I don’t have to make a spectacle of myself because of it. I’m not ashamed to show whoever it is I’m screwing public affection, but...”
“You don’t do that. I’ve never seen you do that.”
I pinch Carl’s arm. “That’s because all the girls I sleep with are idiots. Anyways, I just don’t see the goddamn point of parading around like an insecure nobody who needs the attention of strangers to feel special, is all.”
He grins. “Me neither. Why would a guy ever want a hairy beast ass man when he could have a soft little piece of ass and big firm titties inches from his face when he’s fuckin’ her?”
I shrug. “Beats me. Maybe it’s just the unrecognized need to love yourself.”
Alison taps the waist of her jeans. “I’m gonna get these. And those.” She points to the dressing room at a pile of clothes we can’t see but watched her carry in.
Carl unties and reties a shoelace. “You gonna get the vest too, babe? You should. I liked it.”
She nods, looking distantly at me in the mirror. “Yeah, I might.”
He does it to the other shoe, too. “I liked how it made your boobs look. Gave me wood. I liked that.”
I crack my knuckles and think about buying a new cardigan one of these days. The one I’ve got now, my favorite gray one, it’s got blood on it and I can’t wear it anywhere except around the house. I’d hate to get drunk, forget I’m wearing it and answer the door when the Jehovah’s Witnesses come knocking, asking if I’d like to go to Heaven. “You done shopping, Alison?”
Carl stands up, walks into the dressing room where all of Alison’s clothes are heaped on the bench. “Yeah, you done, babe? I wanna go get some more blow. Fucking fluorescent light in here is driving me nuts.”
As she gathers up armfuls of fabric, Alison calls out behind her, “How is it you have no other lesbian friends?”
Carl walks out, scratches his head, “Yeah, why’s that? Don’t you lesbians need some sort of tight knit group to support your lesbiansness? You know, give one another the heads up on other potential dykes...”
My head hits the back of the chair so hard I can feel my eyeballs bouncing around in their sockets. “I’m not a goddamn lesbian!”
XI
Before I go to work, I deal with the body of the girl in my bed. I undo the gag strap behind her head first, pry the black ball out of her mouth, which is sort of tough because her jaw has gone cold with her teeth really stuck in the thing. I wrap her body in a sheet and drag it into the bathroom attached to my bedroom. I dump her in the tub and flick off the light, then I toss the gag into the dishwasher with all the other gag balls and dishes crusted with blood.
The neighborhood begins a half mile away from my house, which is practically in the middle of nowhere beside the park. I swing by a corner store, pick up a pack of cigarettes and stop at the coffee shop Alison works at which is super convenient because it’s on the same strip of business as Fantasy Z, the porn store I work at. Alison is wiping down a table when I come in and she tosses the rag onto an empty chair and gives me a hug.
“Hi hun, how are you this lovely morning?”
“Good good. How are you?”
“God, just shoot me. Serious.” She leans in close, pretending no one can hear. “I’m sick of this place.”
That girl she works with, the one Alison says has a thing for me, Trisha, she pops up from under the counter, arms loaded with coffee cups and stacks of java jackets that amazingly don’t spill all over the place when she tilts this way and that, putting stuff here and there around the till.
I walk over to her. “Can I get a coffee?”
She laughs, gives me a wink while her fingers peck at the buttons on the register. “I don’t know. Can you?”
“I want a medium.”
“Room for cream?”
“No.”
“No cream?”
“Nope.”
“No sugar?”
“Naw.”
“So, just... black then?”
“Uh huh.”
“Ok.” Her voice turns to nearly inaudible mumbles as she turns around and fills a mug with coffee. “One black coffee it is then.”
Alison picks up the rag, moves to another table, barely wiping it at all. I look out the window at the passing cars, Trisha sets the mug on the counter. “That’s two dollars and...”
“I need it to go.”
She stops, looks down at the mug and bumps her palm against her forehead. “Oh my god, that’s right. I’m so sorry!”
She dumps the cup out in the sink, grabs a to go one, fills it and is all red faced when she rings it up. “Sorry. Mondays!”
Today is Wednesday. I smile, wrap my fingers around the warm cylinder of wax and paper, filled to the brim with boiling black caffeine. “That’s OK.”
Around noon Alison comes into my store and asks if I’m seeing anyone right now. I think of the girl in my bathtub, stiff and wrapped in a sheet. “No, whatever I had, it’s pretty dead.”
She smiles and says, “Trisha was wondering, but don’t tell her I said that,” and goes back to work.
Absolutely nothing happens for the next four hours. I’m cleaning a display of Acryl dildos with a feather duster, thinking about how I’d once read somewhere that the term dildo originally referred to this dick shaped peg that sailors used to lock the oars on their boats, when I hear the bell above the door ringing.
I turn, and no kidding, I’m dead serious, in strolls a little girl with this older guy behind her. The guy’s got a sun hat
on and one of those douche bag beards, the chin strap kind. He’s clearly over forty, his gut is proof of that, and on top of everything else, he’s wearing socks with sandals. The little girl bounces over to the movies.
I know I should do something, but I can’t. I just can’t stop staring, the feather duster hovering over the tips of all those dildos, I cannot believe what I am seeing.
The little girl picks up a movie, flips it over to look at the back. She tugs on the guy’s shirt. “Get one with big dicks! Some big black dicks! I want to see some big cocks tonight!”
Harry comes out of his office holding that clip chart, he sees me with my mouth hung open and looks over at the two. He stops in mid step, eyes popping out of his head, we both look at each other—the same look of horror on our faces.
The little girl picks up another movie. “They do facials in this one?” She’s twisting a pig tail around her finger when I hear the bell above the door again. Two guys walk through the door, freezing a few paces in, then start shuffling backwards to leave. Harry’s whole face goes red and he charges up to the jerk in the sun hat with the chin strap rapist beard and slams his whole fist against the rack of DVDs.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing in here with a little girl, asshole? What the...” He looks down at her and stops shouting. His face goes redder than a burning tomato, his lips forming a huge O. The customers by the door, they move a little closer, I drop the duster when the little girl screams, throwing the movies onto the floor, “I’m not a little girl, you idiot! I’m a fucking midget!”
Harry gives them free rentals for a month and lets the guy take home a pair of edible underwear, the girl gets a dildo on the house.
After they leave Harry comes up to me shaking his head, “Wow, dodged a bullet on that one.”
“How so?”
He shrugs, slips his hands in his pockets and look around the empty store. “Little people, they’ve got good lawyers.”
“Oh?”
“Could’ve got defamation on that one. Shoot, I was close to smackin’ the guy!”
