by Ann McMan
Shawn could never say no to any woman who correctly used the word schlep.
Or to any woman who put mustard on her French fries.
They’d been trying to find safe topics to discuss, and had drifted into a conversation about trends in lesbian fiction. Shawn was surprised to discover that Kate actually had a balanced and informed perspective about most aspects of the genre. Plus she seemed to be on a first-name basis with all of the leading authors and publishers. It soon became clear that, although there were many things she liked about the literature—if you could call it that—she abided in frustration that so much of it was cloying and repetitive. And that shortcoming, in her view, could be laid squarely at the feet of the publishers, who did little to push, cajole, or insist that their authors move beyond the safety nets of the familiar.
And where the hell were the editors?
Kate told Shawn that she once, in disgust, took the time to count all of the adverbs used in a book she had been asked to review.
“When I got up to eight hundred and fifty, I quit counting, and I wasn’t even halfway through the damn thing.”
Shawn was amazed. “Seriously. How could an editor brazenly allow such appallingly deficient prose to see the enthusiastically blinding light of a gloriously new day?”
Kate scowled at her. “Fuck you and the reflexive pronoun you rode in on.”
“Did you just end a sentence with a preposition?”
“Oh, my bad,” Kate said without a trace of contrition. “Fuck you and the reflexive pronoun you rode in on, bitch.”
Shawn slowly shook her head. “Are you always this crusty?”
“I don’t know,” Kate replied. “Are you always this annoying?”
“You’d have to ask my marketing guru that question.”
Kate nodded. “I think I begin to understand why she spent most of the evening in the beverage line, two-fisting tall boys.”
“Oh really,” Shawn asked with interest. “Was V. Jay-Jay opening them for her? I always did suspect that Gwen’s tastes ran to the exotic.”
Kate actually smiled. “That could lend new meaning to your title.”
“Bottle Rocket?”
Kate nodded.
Shawn laughed out loud. “Now there’s an idea for some cover art that would rival the best of what’s on display downstairs.”
“Oh, god.” Kate raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Don’t even get me started on that part of this business. Most of those books look like . . . I don’t know.” She waved a hand. “What’s the same sex term for bodice ripper?”
Shawn thought about it. “Carhartt cutter?”
Kate laughed. “Flannel flayer?”
“Boot buster.”
“Chap chafer.”
“Saddle soaper.”
“Jersey jerker.”
Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Jersey jerker?”
Kate shrugged. “I was channeling women’s basketball.”
“Oh. Okay. That works.”
Kate drained her wine glass. “I don’t suppose there’s any more of this, is there?”
Shawn grabbed the bottle off the end table next to her side of the bed. She held it up sideways. “I’m sad to report that Elvis has left the building.”
“No he hasn’t.” Kate giggled. “I saw him getting off the elevator about three hours ago.”
“For real?”
Kate nodded. “He was all wrapped around Vivien K. O’Reilly. I think he’s moderating a session tomorrow.”
“Ours?”
“In your dreams, Sparky.”
Shawn sighed. “Too bad.”
“Why?”
“I thought it might provide some much needed comic relief.”
Kate snorted. “Oh really? How? By having him belt out a few rousing choruses of ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ to warm up the room?”
“It could work.” Shawn bumped Kate’s shoulder. “Besides, isn’t that your signature tune?”
“I don’t have a signature tune.”
“Of course you do. Everybody does.”
Kate seemed intrigued. “Oh really?”
Shawn nodded.
“Okay, wiseass. What’s yours?”
Shawn smiled. “Clearly, you don’t understand how signature tunes work. I don’t get to pick one. It evolves . . . organically.”
“Organically?”
Shawn nodded again.
Kate looked dubious. “I haven’t known you very long, but there seems to be precious little about you that could ever be called organic.”
“Pish posh.”
“Pish posh?”
Shawn shrugged.
“You’re such a nerd. If you did have a signature tune, it would have to be something retro and annoying.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know.” Kate chewed the inside of her cheek. “Maybe something by The Archies.”
Shawn sat up straighter. “I loved The Archies.”
“You would.”
“Hey. You can’t hold having unrefined musical tastes against me. The soundtrack of my formative years was comprised mostly of polkas.”
“And Barbra Streisand.”
Shawn didn’t deny it. “It was pretty pathetic. In retrospect, I wonder if my mother’s cherished subscription to the Columbia Record Club was part of their ‘Turn Your Child Into a Serial Killer’ package.”
“It could be. Ever enjoy torturing small animals?”
Shawn sighed. “Nope. Just bloggers.”
“That figures.”
“I know. Lucky you.”
Kate eyed her. “Opinions on that differ.”
They fell quiet. Shawn could hear the sound of muffled laughter coming from the hallway outside Kate’s room. Things seemed to be heating up. It was no secret that most of the real action at CLIT-Con took place after hours on the floors above the conference venue.
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly midnight. Kate wasn’t looking at her. The quiet between them seemed unnatural.
Shawn suddenly felt uncomfortable as hell, and she didn’t really know why.
She decided that flight was her best option.
“I really need to go,” she said. “It’s awfully late, and I should never have stayed this long.”
Kate didn’t reply.
Shawn collected their empty plates and stacked them on the service tray. “Thanks for the meal.”
“No problem,” Kate replied. She wasn’t looking at Shawn. She was too busy smoothing out a crease on the bedspread. “Thanks for helping me back to the room.”
Shawn stood up, carried the tray to a small desk, and set it down, then thought better of it. “Do you want me to put this outside the door?”
Kate shook her head. “I’ll deal with it later.”
Shawn continued to stand in front of her, feeling like she needed to say something else, but not knowing quite what. “Will you be okay?” It was lame, but it was the best she could come up with.
Kate raised her eyes and looked at her. There was only one lamp turned on the room, but Shawn could still see how blue her eyes were.
“I’ll be fine.” She patted the knee of her affected leg. “It feels a lot better already.”
“Okay.” Shawn picked up her gym towel and room key. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“That you will.”
The short walk to the door felt like Lee’s retreat from the battle at Gettysburg. She was sure that Kate was watching her, and that made her feel clumsy and inelegant. What the hell had happened to the almost easy camaraderie they seemed to be inching toward? Shawn was actually starting to relax about the session tomorrow. Correction—today. But something changed when they heard the laughter outside the door, and they both retreated to their corners like boxers after the clang of a bell.
The door loomed in front of her like the entrance to a tomb.
That wasn’t right. It was more like an exit than an entrance. And she knew that once she was on the other side of it, calm and
reason would be restored. Right now, she felt like a pinball machine on tilt. She grabbed the door handle, and the big dead bolt lock unlatched with a loud click. She stepped halfway out of the room and looked down the hall.
Her blood ran cold.
No fucking way.
She took a half step back and hovered in the doorway so she could take a second look.
God. It was even more horrifying a second time.
She backed into the room as quickly as she could and slammed the door shut.
“What the hell is going on?” Kate’s voice rang out from her prone position on the bed.
Shawn stood with her back against the door, taking deep breaths. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Oh, good god.” Kate climbed down off the bed and limped to the door. “What’s the matter with you?”
Shawn held her gym towel up to her eyes. “I think I’m blind.”
Kate shoved her away from the door and reached for the handle. “Move over.”
“You can’t go out there.” Shawn barred her way.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I saw Gwen,” Shawn hissed. “And it was terrifying.”
“You saw Gwen?”
Shawn nodded.
Kate held out her hands. “That’s what has you in such a swivet?”
Shawn nodded again.
“What am I missing here?”
“She was . . .” Shawn made an oblique gesture.
“She was what?”
Shawn held up her hand. “Just trust me on this. You don’t want to know.”
Kate grabbed Shawn by the arm and hauled her away from the door. “I’ll make my own assessment, thank you.” She craned her neck and looked through the peephole. After a moment, she turned to Shawn with an expression of exasperation. “You’re crazy. There’s nothing out there but a hundred miles of bad carpet.”
“Just wait a minute,” Shawn replied. “She’ll be back.”
“Back? Back from where?”
“The ice machine. She was carrying a big bucket full of long necks.”
“Long necks?”
Shawn nodded.
“Really?”
Shawn nodded again.
“Could you tell what kind?” Kate sounded intrigued now.
“I’m not positive, but it looked like PBR.”
“PBR?” Enlightenment spread across Kate’s features. “Interesting. This is definitely gonna be worth watching.” She turned back to the peephole. After another minute, she fluttered a hand back and forth in excitement. “Here she comes,” she whispered. “Oh. My. God.”
Shawn tried to push her aside. “Let me see.”
“Quit shoving me,” Kate hissed. “You’ve already seen her.”
“Come on. I saw her first.” Shawn elbowed her way in so that they both were vying for space in front of the tiny peephole.
“Oh god,” Shawn said. “Is she wearing what I think she’s wearing?”
Kate’s face was millimeters away from hers. Even in her excitement, Shawn didn’t miss that her hair smelled great—like ginger and oranges.
“Yep,” Kate said. “That’s Quinn’s, all right.”
Gwen was walking past Kate’s room, carrying a bucket that was overloaded with beer bottles and ice. Tiny cubes of ice were falling out as she walked along, disappearing into the rust and brown abyss of the carpet. She was wearing an oversized black t-shirt—and nothing else. No pants, no shoes, no nothing. When she passed the door, they could clearly read the message emblazoned across the back of her shirt.
“I guess the bitch fell off,” Shawn whispered.
“Jesus Christ,” Kate muttered. “Is that a dog collar? And what are those bracelet-looking things on her ankles?”
Shawn nudged her. “Excuse me . . . but aren’t you the same woman who reviewed the immortal classic, MILF Money?”
“Fuck you.”
“You know,” Shawn said. “Normally, I’d just refer a detractor like you to my marketing guru, but now I’d worry about your safety.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kate asked, turning to her. Their noses were nearly touching.
“Um. Yes?” Shawn wasn’t thinking very clearly right then. Kate’s eyes glowed like Ohio Blue Tips—the kind her grandmother used to use to light the gas burners on her kitchen stove.
“These conferences are notorious for hookups like this,” Kate said. She was still speaking in a whisper, although by now, Gwen was far beyond earshot.
“So I’ve heard.” Shawn had never noticed how beautiful Kate’s mouth was—when it wasn’t spewing vitriol.
“I think behavior like this is contemptible.” She was speaking so low that Shawn was having a hard time hearing her.
“What?” Shawn moved in a little closer. Kate grabbed hold of her arms to avoid falling on her gimpy ankle.
“I said,” Kate whispered. “This kind of behavior is . . .”
“Is what?”
“Contemptible,” Kate said. “It’s contemptible.”
Shawn could feel little wisps of air against her face when Kate spoke. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. “I agree. They should exercise more self-control.”
Kate nodded. The scent from her hair was driving Shawn crazy. It smelled like summer. She wanted to bury her face in it.
“I don’t know why I keep coming to these,” Kate said. “It’s the same thing every year.”
“Maybe you think you’ll get lucky, too?”
Kate raised her eyes to Shawn’s. “Do you think I need to get lucky?”
There was something vaguely coquettish in the way she asked the question. Shawn now felt like she was the one who was unsteady on her feet.
“No,” she said, tugging Kate closer. “That’s not what I think.”
Kate didn’t try to pull away. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m about to violate about twenty-five conflict of interest clauses.” She inched her head forward and lightly kissed, then licked at Kate’s lips. She heard a low-pitched moan, and realized it was coming from one of them. Or maybe it was coming from both of them. It was hard to tell.
Kate was breathing heavily now. “You know,” she ran a hand up Shawn’s arm and along behind her neck, “there was one thing I was curious about when I finished reading your book.”
“And that was?”
Kate tugged her head down and gave her an incendiary kiss. It went on and on. When they finally came up for air, they were leaning heavily against the door. Shawn’s legs felt like rubber, and she was pretty sure Kate’s did, too.
“I wondered,” Kate whispered as she bit Shawn’s earlobe, “what you could possibly come up with as an encore.”
As soon as Shawn commenced showing her, Kate’s legs gave out, and she dropped to the floor for the fourth time that night. Only, this time, there was a soft and willing debut author on hand to break her fall.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Gwen was pissed, and she wasn’t doing much to conceal it.
The opening session was due to start in less than twenty minutes, and Shawn had only just shown up. She was carrying an extra-large cup of coffee and a bagel, and had a dog-eared copy of Bottle Rocket tucked beneath her arm. She hadn’t eaten any breakfast, so she stopped off at the concession area set up at the back of the Indigo Level Ballroom to scare up something to eat.
She hadn’t had time to do much of anything that morning except grab a speed shower and change her clothes. Fortunately for her, the down elevator was more cooperative, and did not stop on every floor.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Shawn apologized. And neither did you, she was tempted to add.
In fact, Gwen didn’t look any the worse for wear, which was surprising, considering the night she’d probably had. Shawn could see some slight discoloration on the parts of her neck that were visible beneath the scarf she wore.
Ewww. Best not to think about that.
“I called your room and t
exted you about fifty times,” Gwen continued.
Shawn took a bite out of her bagel. “Why? Did the bar run out of vegan wine?”
“Very funny.” Gwen grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to stand behind a massive potted palm, causing the several shy types who had been lurking there to scurry away like cockroaches fleeing the glare of an overhead light. The hall was really filling up. There were at least two hundred people milling around, and as many already seated.
“You won’t believe who called me this morning.” Gwen’s mood transitioned from pissed to excited. “Go ahead. Guess.”
“The CDC?” Shawn asked.
“No.” Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Why the hell would I get a call from the Center for Disease Control?”
Shawn shrugged. “Blame the CSI marathon I watched all night.”
“Whatever.” Gwen waved a dismissive hand, then she appeared to catch sight of something over Shawn’s shoulder. Her agitation returned, and she manically straightened her scarf. “Don’t look now, but someone very special just entered the hall,” she said in a low voice.
Shawn rolled her eyes. “Who? Barbara Walters?” She took a big sip of her coffee.
Gwen’s eyes grew round. “How’d you know? Damn that blabbermouth Barb Davis. I told her not to tell you.”
Shawn choked and spewed coffee all over the palm. Gwen barely had time to skip out of the way. Shawn’s coughing jag went on and on, and her eyes filled up with tears. Gwen took the steaming cup out of her hand and patted her on the back until she dislodged a partially chewed hunk of bagel.
Shawn wiped at her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her voice was husky.
“Nope. That’s why I kept trying to find you. Her people contacted me last night. They’ve been following your online feud with Kate Winston, and they want to include you two in an upcoming special she’s doing on gay culture for ABC news.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, I’m not kidding you. Yes, it’s happening, and with Ba-Ba herself. She happened to be in San Diego this week, so she decided to come by this morning to catch the fireworks.” She lowered her voice. “I’m counting on you to make sure she’s not disappointed. If this goes well, not only will you be on your way to a mainstream publishing career, Kate Winston could very well end up with a recurring slot on Good Morning America.”
