Piece of My Heart

by Layce Gardner

  Piece Of My Heart

  by

  Saxon Bennett & Layce Gardner

  Synopsis

  Jenna Martin is heartbroken when her girlfriend runs off with another woman. Even though she believes true love will never find her, Jenna vows to help other women find their own true loves by opening a dating service. If she can’t love for herself, she’s determined to find love for her hopelessly inept clients.

  Through messy mash-ups and zany adventures, Jenna and her best friend and business partner, Dale, help a Turret’s juggler lose her balls, an Elizabeth Taylor impersonator drop her White Diamonds, and a woman with multiple personalities find a girlfriend that adores all of her.

  Along the way, Jenna discovers that just because she’s given up on love, that doesn’t mean love has given up on her.

  This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Square Pegs Ink

  Text copyright © Layce Gardner & Saxon Bennett

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the author's permission.

  Editor: Kate Michael Gibson

  Katemichaelgibson.com

  Cover designed by Lemon Squirrel Graphics

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  Chapter One

  Jenna Martin did not believe in love—not the fleeting kind, not the true blue kind, not the love-at-first-sight kind, and certainly not the until-death-do-us-part kind. It wasn’t that she couldn’t get a date—she was attractive, no doubt. She had shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes with tiny gold flecks, a nicely shaped Grecian nose, full lips, perky breasts, and a medium-sized butt. All in all, she made a decent enough package. In her business, she needed to look like she was datable material or she couldn’t sell herself as a dating coach.

  This business, the dating game, was Jenna’s first attempt at owning her own business. She had been a real estate agent before. For twenty long years. Then, one day she woke up to find her lover gone and she lost her zest for selling the American Dream. Truthfully, she lost her zest for most everything.

  After nine months of wallowing in self-pity and tequila shots, she dried out and decided to change her life. That’s when she got the idea for She-She. There were already several lesbian dating sites out there, but hers was different. It didn’t just match you up with the perfect partner. No, She-She molded you into the perfect partner. Well, you know, as perfect as any lesbian could be. Jenna wanted to sand off those rough edges, sculpt a woman, and then present her to the world. In other words, Jenna would make the undatable datable.

  Today was opening day, the first day of her new business, and Jenna was nervous. She had been passing out flyers for weeks and now, finally, She-She had its first three customers.

  Her business partner and best friend, Dale Dixon, came into her office carrying three file folders. Dale was definitely datable material. She was short, blond, blue-eyed, athletic, and to top it off, she was nice. Where Jenna could be snarky (a result of low self-esteem and nerves,) Dale was the butter-won’t-melt-in-her-mouth kind of person. Jenna figured that Dale more than made up for her own shortcomings.

  Dale was also married. Married and happy. She was married to a rich, charming, and handsome woman named Taylor. Dale and Taylor believed in love and Happily Ever Afters. Jenna planned on using Dale as an example of what her clients could have if they trusted in her methods.

  “They’re here,” Dale said, waving the file folders in the air. “Our first clients are sitting in the waiting room.” She handed the folders to Jenna who took a seat behind her cherrywood desk.

  Jenna had rented high-end office furniture so that she would inspire trust in her clients. She believed that to be successful, you had to look successful. Not only was the desk nice, but the chairs in the small sitting area were comfortable, dark brown leather. Jenna preferred leather because tears did not stain them (she knew this from experience) and claws (both cat’s and women’s) didn’t rip them. In addition, leather gave the room a sense of warmth—like a cozy womb. Not that wombs were leathery, that’s not what she meant. No, Jenna thought, leather invoked a sense of strength and...

  Dale interrupted Jenna’s thoughts by saying, “They’re real doozies, those three.”

  Jenna opened the first file and scanned it. “Doozies?”

  “Doozies. One of them listed juggling as her occupation.”

  “Is that even a real job?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Dale said, looking inside one of the folders, “She says it’s not an occupation, but more like a pre-occupation. There’s also a software developer who has personality issues.”

  “Personality issues?”

  “That’s what she wrote under ‘tell me more about yourself,’” Dale said.

  Jenna’s nerves were getting the best of her. She spun her office chair in a slow circle. “What’s that even mean, personality issues? I don’t know if I’m up for this. Selling houses was so much easier. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. We can still take the furniture back.” She spun the chair faster. “We only paid for one week. The leather still smells new. And I bet the landlord would let us out of the lease if we asked nicely. It’s not too late. Maybe we can cancel our rent check. I can’t handle any doozy people.” By the time Jenna had finished talking, she was spinning the chair out of control.

  “Isn’t that why we started this business—to help the doozy people?” Dale asked.

  “I don’t know. I forget. I can’t remember why we started this business.” At this point Jenna was spinning so fast she was nothing more than a blur.

  “You need to reserve judgment until you meet them,” Dale said. “Didn’t we agree no pre-judging?”

  “You’re the one who called them doozies.”

  “I know, but I meant it in the nicest way possible.”

  Jenna was still spinning. She was making Dale dizzy just watching her. “I meant it as a challenge. You know how you love challenges.”

  “I do?” Jenna spun even faster. “Maybe we should wait until we get some better prospects. You know, find some lesbians who aren’t so difficult to make datable. Find a couple of dykes who just need a haircut and a new wardrobe. You know, get our feet wet by starting with some easy ones.”

  Dale grabbed Jenna’s chair and stopped it. She leaned down until her nose was only two inches from Jenna’s, peered into her eyes and said, “These women need us. We are their last hope. Without us, they will lead empty, lonely lives.”

  “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”

  Dale tried another tact. “Plus, you need the money. You’ve been eating ramen noodles for three straight days and you’re two months behind on your rent.”

  “I like ramen. And my apartment is too big anyway,” Jenna said.

  Dale sat on the edge of the desk. “You seem to have forgotten the entire reason we started this agency. Who was it who said ‘If I can’t be happy, at least I can make sure that other women are happy’?”

  “I haven’t forgotten the reason. It stares me in the face every morning when I look at her toothbrush,” Jenna said.

  “Seriously? You still have her toothbrush?”

  Jenna’s voice cracked as she said, “I can’t make myself throw it away. She might come back. She’ll say it was all a big mistake. And she’ll wrap me up in her arms and make mad, passionate love to me. And in the morning sh
e’ll want her toothbrush.”

  Dale shook her head sadly. “Oh, Jenna...”

  “It could happen.”

  Dale said softly, but firmly, “Lee is not coming back—ever. She moved to Italy with a sexy, buxom, dark-haired beauty who has perfect mole placement.”

  “I know. You’re right,” Jenna muttered. Her mind shot back like a well-aimed rubber band to the night Lee left. They had made the most passionate love, soul-searching love, orgasm upon orgasm, their vulvas dancing in the pale moonlight. (Okay, there hadn’t been moonlight, but their vulvas did dance. Sort of.) Jenna pictured Lee’s skin glistening with perspiration, her breasts heaving... Afterwards, Lee kissed her and told her how much she loved her, would always love her. Jenna fell asleep sated, with a satisfied smile on her lips.

  The next morning, Jenna woke up to the smell of coffee—the coffee maker had been pre-set so it would be ready when they awoke. She smiled, marveling at the tingly sensation she still felt. She stretched like a well-fed, lazy feline, and savored the morning. She was looking forward to another wonderful day she would spend with the love of her life.

  Jenna rolled out of bed and looked in the bathroom. Lee wasn’t there. Jenna slipped on her robe. She had bought matching Hers and Hers robes as a three-month anniversary present for Lee. Lee had never worn hers and the price tag was still attached…can you say “red flag?”

  Jenna shuffled barefoot to the kitchen, got her coffee, and headed for the balcony. On a beautiful morning like this, Jenna figured she’d find Lee out on the balcony sipping coffee and reading the New York Times, which Jenna thought was sophisticated (especially since they lived in Merrell, Minnesota).

  But Lee wasn’t on the balcony either. On the small wrought iron table was the unread paper and a single yellow rose. Confused, Jenna picked up the rose and smelled its petals. What did a yellow rose mean? Friendship? The rose should’ve been red. Red was the color of passion and love. Then she saw the note. She picked it up with trembling fingers.

  The note was in Lee’s handwriting. It read, “Dearest Jenna, I love you. But I love Brunila more. I’m moving to Italy. Best regards, Lee.”

  Best regards?

  Is that all she got after giving years of herself to the relationship?

  Best fucking regards?

  Dale shook Jenna’s shoulders, snapping her back to the present. “Stop wallowing in that memory. It does absolutely no good; even the sex parts are bad for your mental health. Remember what Connie, your life coach, said,” Dale reminded her.

  “I know—‘it is what it is’ which despite being nihilistically enigmatic says absolutely nothing. Obviously, all things are what they are, and they’ll know where they are when they get there. What a load of garbage. Is it any wonder I fired her?” Jenna said.

  “You didn’t fire her. You dodged her calls until she no longer bothered calling. Now, let’s get on with it. I’ve made coffee.” Dale pointed to the round coffee table in the middle of the comfy chairs where a decanter of coffee, cream and sugar, and five cups sat waiting. “If the clients are tea drinkers, I have hot water and an assortment of teas at the ready.”

  “Oh, all right. Bring them in so I can work some juju that’ll grant them a happiness that I won’t ever know.”

  “Stop being maudlin and put on your happy face. These women need to believe you can help them,” Dale said.

  “I know, I know,” Jenna said, “Happiness is a choice.” She used her index fingers to pull her mouth into a smile.

  Dale sighed and rolled her eyes.

  Jenna went over and poured herself a cup of coffee. She drank hers black so she never had to waste time doctoring it. She took a sip and eyed Dale over the top of the mug. “Don’t you think it’s ironic that I, hopefully, can get them a date,” she pointed to the office door and what lay beyond it, “but I can’t get a date for myself?”

  “That’s because they have the balls to do something about it and you don’t,” Dale retorted. She marched over to the office door. “Now, I’m opening this door and you’re going to do us proud. You’re going to give these lesbians the leg up they need so they can take that first step toward U-Haul road.” Without waiting for Jenna’s reply, Dale whipped open the door.

  Jenna stood, put on her happy, can-do face and aimed her bright smile at the three waiting women. “Ladies, please come in! The rest of your life is waiting! Help yourself to coffee. Or tea.”

  The women looked like rabbits frozen in the glare of headlights. Dale guided them in, and showed them where to sit. “My name is Dale. And this is your fearless leader and coach, Jenna.”

  Jenna changed her expression, putting on her I-have-this-all-under-control face. “Good morning, ladies. Is everyone ready? Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

  “Who said that?” one of the women asked.

  “I did. Just now,” Jenna said.

  “No. I mean before. Somebody said it before you.”

  Another of the women said, “This isn’t going to be one of those seminars where you spew all those 1970s poster slogans at us, is it?”

  “Coffee?” Dale interrupted, holding the carafe in front of the three women.

  “I only drink grape juice…in a sippy cup,” the first woman said.

  “Sippy cup?” Jenna asked.

  “No worries, I brought my own,” the woman said. She held up a plastic cup with a screw-on lid like the ones toddlers drink from.

  Jenna was sure she hadn’t seen anything about sippy cups in any of the women’s files. That she would remember. “And you are?” she asked.

  “I’m Cindy Swans.”

  Jenna looked Cindy up and down. She wasn’t bad looking. Short, messy brown hair. Her nose was a little big maybe. She could drop a couple of pounds. She was a fidgeter, too. Her knee bounced up and down. Probably from drinking all that sugary grape juice from a sippy cup.

  This one would be a simple fix, Jenna thought. Nix the grape juice and that would get rid of the sippy cup and the fidgeting. She’d probably lose those unwanted pounds, too.

  Jenna turned her attention to the next client. The woman had black hair, cut in a severe bob with bangs and bright blue eyeshadow. She resembled Cleopatra. She wore a white toga-style dress with gold armbands that were shaped like snakes wrapped tightly around her biceps. Her gold, strappy sandals laced all the way up her calves.

  “And you are?” Jenna asked.

  “Melody. But I prefer to be called Liz.”

  “Liz it is, then,” Jenna said. A lot of lesbians chose other names because they didn’t like the names their parents had saddled them with. Jenna was of the opinion that parents should really give more thought to their children’s names. A bad name could really hurt a person’s chance at a successful life. Jenna used to think that children should name themselves, but then she realized that wasn’t such a great idea. Children would probably name themselves things like Dinosaur and Choo-Choo and Tiger and Poopy.

  Liz-Melody sat down and poured coffee for herself. She added cream and sugar, tasted the coffee, and then poured more cream and sugar into her cup.

  This one was going to be harder, Jenna thought. She obviously had some kind of weird fascination thing going on with Elizabeth Taylor. Jenna sniffed the air. Yep, just what she thought, White Diamonds perfume. The only way she was going to be able to get this woman a date would be to match her up with a movie buff. Or maybe she could find a lesbian who thought she was Richard Burton.

  The last woman hung back. Dale touched her elbow and nudged her to join the others at the sitting area. The woman slid into her chair like a person who made it a point not to be noticed.

  “Would you care for some coffee?” Dale asked.

  “No, thank you,” the woman whispered.

  “What’s your name?” Jenna asked.

  “Agnes,” the woman said. Her voice was so quiet, Jenna had to strain to hear her. In fact, everything about Agnes was quiet. She wore a baggy gray sweater, matching gray slacks, had mousy
hair pulled back in a severe bun, and pale gray eyes. She had managed to achieve a sort of invisibility.

  Jenna figured she could fix Agnes by adding color, any color other than gray. A scarf would even do the trick—a splash of color as Jenna’s grandmother used to say. Agnes had good bone structure and what hinted at a nice figure under the baggy clothes. All she needed was some lipstick and a healthy dose of self-esteem.

  Jenna lightly clapped her hands. “I am Jenna. I will be your coach, your mother, your sister, your best friend, your ticket out of the dating doldrums.”

  Jenna paused for a reaction. The three women only stared at her unblinking.

  “All right then, let’s get started. Dale is going to take some notes as we go along, so we will always have something to brainstorm with. No worries, she’ll sit right over there so it won’t be so obvious and you can relax. If any of you have been to therapy,” Jenna said, betting they all had, including herself, “I know it’s often...” she said, meaning always, “disconcerting to be talking and have someone writing down stuff about you. Don’t worry about that here. Dale is taking the minutes of this meeting, not analyzing you.” This, of course, was untrue. Dale took notes especially about the clients’ personalities because it was usually the reason for their undatability. “Everyone understand?”

  The women nodded in unison.

  “I once had a therapist who wrote stuff down before I even started talking and long after I’d stopped, Liz-Melody said. “Now, that I think of it, she spent most of the session writing. I’m not even sure it was about me. I think she was writing a book.”

  “Maybe she was writing up her grocery list and not listening to you at all,” Agnes said. For a moment she had thrust aside her cloak of invisibility.

  Liz-Melody flipped her hair back over her shoulder in a forceful gesture. Her straight bangs slipped up higher on her forehead. She quickly put her hand on top of her head and scooted her hair back in place. Obviously, it was a wig.

  “She probably was. And despite spending oodles of cash, I was even more confused going out than I was when I came in,” Liz-Melody said.