by Tanya Boteju
Entering her place was like walking into a temple devoted to contradictions. Two life-size portraits of fierce-looking drag queens met my eyes as soon as we walked in, as if welcoming us with a Well, don’t just stand there, bitches! But on either side of the portraits were statues—a sitting Buddha, and a laughing Buddha that made me smile. A gigantic wooden table sat in front of the portraits and statues, like something out of a medieval feast scene. But the chairs around it were a collection of misfits—one wicker, one beat-up wooden chair, a plastic folding chair, and a couple of clunky metal ones.
Multicolored lights bordered the mantelpiece of a brick fireplace. The fireplace looked defunct, but inside it a mountain of candles stood in various stages of their lives. Set around this structure was another grouping of mismatched seating options. A bright red shag rug spread across the very worn hardwood floor, like a sea of flames.
Winnow let go of my hand and spread both arms wide. “Welcome to my abode. What d’ya think?”
“It is unsurprisingly awesome,” I uttered.
Winnow beamed at me. Devi looked at her, and something like a smirk contorted her mouth. I wondered what that was about. Had they already talked about me? Was I being too obvious about how much I liked Winnow?
Probably.
I didn’t have too much time to wonder, though, because through a doorway at the back corner of the room entered a very large, half-naked man.
“Whoa. Sorry, folks,” he said in a deep, gentle voice. “I didn’t realize we had company. Just took a shower.” He gripped the towel around his waist. His short sandy hair rose from his scalp in spiky tufts.
“Way to make an entrance, my friend,” Winnow said. “This, Nima, is Boyd. Boyd, Nima. Now go put on some clothes, Boyd.”
Boyd approached me and stuck out his arm. “Hey, Nima.” His meaty hand gave my sweaty, hot one a firm shake. He must have been about six feet tall and somewhere in his early twenties too. Many pounds of full but firm-looking white flesh greeted me everywhere I tried not to look.
“Hey, Boyd. Thanks for wearing a towel,” I said.
He, Winnow, and Devi laughed, and I felt a little better. I’d said something not too embarrassing, and they’d found it funny. And I hadn’t batted an eye about the guy in a towel. Two wins in less than two minutes. You go, girl.
“All right, off to find some pants. Back in a jiff.” He glided off to a room somewhere to the right.
“Okay. I have some good news and some bad news,” Winnow said to me. “The bad news is, we have no extra beds here. The good news is, that couch over there is as comfortable as it looks. But I also have a queen-size bed. So—”
Oh.
Winnow looked at me a little bashfully, and her next words flew quickly from her mouth. “You can totally sleep on the couch if you want to, but the bed is an option too. And I’m a really good sleeper, I promise! No snoring, kicking, sheet stealing, or drooling.”
“Uh, well, I do all those things, so—sorry in advance?” My mouth felt full of cotton, but I thought I was doing a pretty good job of faking coolness right now.
Winnow and Devi laughed again. Win number three. Or was it four, given the possible sleeping arrangements?
“Okay, well, let’s get your stuff into my room, for now at least.” She led me in through the same entryway from where Boyd had made his fleshy entrance, which opened into a spacious kitchen. Past that, a hallway led to three doorways. Winnow’s room sat farthest back, a very sultry poster of a 1920s flapper girl plastered across the door.
“Meet Doris,” she said, indicating the flapper girl. She opened the door into a small but incredibly inviting bedroom. Setting my backpack on her bed, she continued, “Tiny room, but large bed, as promised. You won’t even know I’m here.”
I doubt that. Very much.
The bed did look massive, though. It was pushed right up against the wall on one side and took up almost the entire width of the room. A closet and several book stacks lined the other side. Twinkle lights packed a massive glass jar at the foot of her bed and crisscrossed the entire ceiling. One more string framed yet another giant, black-and-white portrait of a beautiful woman in a tuxedo. I tried, “Is that Marlene Dietrich?” hoping to impress Winnow by knowing who Marlene Dietrich was.
Winnow laughed. “Wrong skin color. It’s Josephine Baker. She’s one of my muses,” she answered, gazing admiringly at the poster.
So much for impressing anyone. I matched her laugh to hide my embarrassment.
When Winnow flicked on the light switch, the ceiling became a constellation of stars and the lighting gave the space a muted but enchanting quality. It reminded me of the first time I saw Winnow—inviting me into the soft glow of the punk tent, looking like she’d just popped out of a flower somewhere.
“I love this room,” I said, still standing in the doorframe. I sounded breathier than I’d wanted to.
“What’s yours like?”
“Mine? Um, not as cool as this. I have a lot of books too. On shelves. And my bed’s just a single. And my closet is way too small.” Wow. Pulitzer-quality description, Nima.
“Anything you like about it?” Winnow asked, understandably.
“I like . . . the books?” Jesus.
“Yeah, books always make a room better.” She plunked herself across the bed, propping herself up on an elbow. “You said you liked believable novels, I think?”
She remembered that from the bonfire? Impressive. “Yeah—real life ones.”
“About?”
Her gaze was so still and self-assured. I couldn’t manage to hold it, so I stared stupidly at her elbow. “Um, lots of things. But . . . I think it’s cool when the script flips on you somehow, you know? Like, when you get a completely different side to something you thought you’d already figured out.”
“Mm, I see. Like you think you have a character pegged, but then a whole other part of them is revealed?”
“Correct. But it has to be realistic.” Feeling foolish still standing by the door, I moved toward her book piles. “What about you? What’ve you got here?” I knelt down and started scanning the titles.
“I like variety. You’ll see lots of female authors there, though. My mom’s a serious feminist, and a lot of those books were hers.”
“Where is she? Your mom?”
“She’s over near Allison Pools.”
“Are your parents still together?”
“Yup. And happily, too—can you believe it? In this day and age? I guess no one told them about the divorce rate.” She smiled at me, and then her face became serious and she tilted her head a little, which made my heart tilt a little too. “Are your parents divorced, or just . . .”
I ran my finger down the spines of several books. “They’re just not together.” I guess I should have offered more info, but something in my throat caught, and I thought it best to stop there.
“Sorry.”
I coughed a little. “It’s okay.” My eyes settled on a book called Tipping the Velvet. “I mean, it could be worse. My dad is amazing. An amazing weirdo, too, but a good one.” I smiled back at her, beginning to ease into the conversation a bit more.
Unfortunately, Devi’s muscly build burst into the doorway and into my ease. “Where’s the party at, ladies?”
Winnow laughed. “You can’t handle five minutes by yourself, can you?”
“It’s just that I can’t keep away from you.” She bounded onto the bed and tackled Winnow as she did.
“Agh! All your rippling muscles! You’re gonna squash me, you brute!” Winnow protested through her laughter.
I sat back on my heels and watched the two of them wrestle. They seemed so comfortable with each other. I wondered if they’d ever dated. I’d read somewhere during my online “research” that lesbians stay friends with all their exes. Maybe it was true.
“I’m just going to use your washroom, if that’s okay,” I said.
In between gasps, Winnow said, “Of course—second door on the left.” She gave Devi a fake
elbow drop.
I did actually have to pee, but I also needed a little escape from their familiarity. I wasn’t jealous, but I did feel awkward, which was becoming a familiarity of its own.
The washroom was spacious and bright. A purple feather boa lined the mirror, and I wondered who was responsible for the “diva” touches around the house—the portraits in the living room and this plumed accessory.
I did my thing and tried to compose myself. Looking into the mirror, I saw a very young face. A naive face. A face that had never slept in the same bed as a really cute girl before, or hung out with cool lesbians, or really done much of anything.
What would other people do in this situation? Jill always played it cool in any setting. She’d probably jump right onto that bed and wrestle the both of them. Charles would run screaming from the room. Dad would tell some terrible jokes, then go for a walk. My normal “Nima-ness” would not work here, though, I knew that.
But I didn’t have a chance to figure anything out, because a heavy knock rattled the washroom door.
“Hi, I’m almost done,” I said in an abnormally high pitch.
“Oh, sorry,” came Boyd’s resonant voice from outside the door. “I just forgot some stuff in there. I’ll get it when you’re done, though.”
I unlocked the door and opened it to his turned back. “Wait, I’m done! Here you go.” I squeezed by him into the hallway. He was fully clothed now in a T-shirt and board shorts, fortunately.
“Oh, thanks. My apologies—I didn’t mean to rush you.” So polite.
“Yeah—no worries. Just trying to figure out who to be, is all.” Inside thoughts, Nima.
He picked up a pile of clothes from the floor and then stood to face me. “Oh yeah? And who’d you decide on?”
“Ha-ha . . . oh, I didn’t say I’d figured it out.” He had such a warm smile, and it quieted my nerves a little.
“Who has, really?” He leaned on the doorframe, which I swear curved outward to accommodate his own immense frame. “How do you know Winnow and Devi?”
“Hmm.” I leaned my back against the hallway wall across from him. “Well, I met Winnow a couple of weeks ago at this fair she performed at, and I met Devi approximately fifteen minutes ago.”
“Nice. And here you are.”
“Here I am.”
“Well, Nima, I was just about to have a beer. Want one?”
“You trying to steal my date, punk?” This was Winnow, who had appeared in her own doorway, Devi standing behind her. The word “date” caused a small tornado in my brain.
“Hey, I’m just offering our guest a drink. Looks like she might be thirsty, is all.”
“Well, shit, let’s get her a drink then. A beer sounds good. It’s Friday night, after all.” She winked at me.
We all moved into the kitchen. Winnow grabbed four beers from the fridge and handed me one, which I gladly accepted. I hadn’t really acquired a taste for beer yet, but anything would do at this point. As we settled into the living room—Winnow and me on the couch, Boyd and Devi across the room—Boyd asked, “What’s the plan, gang? What time are we heading out?”
“The Pool House doesn’t really get going till a bit later, so we have some time to kill,” Winnow answered. She looked at me and, registering my confusion, added, “The Pool House is where we’re going tonight. It’s this weekly party that happens over the summer. It’s fun—but you have to see it for yourself.” She tapped my bare foot with hers, which just about sent me careening off the couch.
I took a sip of beer and tried hard not to grimace. “Okay, cool. I’ll take your word for it.”
“What’re we gonna do till then?” Devi asked.
“You like card games, Nima?” Boyd asked, his face expanding with excitement.
Winnow leaned over to me and put her hand on my thigh. I died. “Boyd really likes card games,” she explained.
Recovering poorly, I stuttered, “I’m, uh, up for anything.” But was I?
Two games of hearts and two beers later, I started to feel a bit more relaxed. Maybe a little too relaxed. I wasn’t used to having more than one or two drinks, and I’d finished the beers a little faster than usual. I guess I’d been trying to keep up with Devi—drinking as fast as her, laughing when she laughed, leaning back in my chair like she did—thinking maybe if I replicated some of her coolness, I’d fit in here a bit more, but I decided to slow down when I mistook the ace of spades for a four and messed up my hand, much to the amusement of the others.
“ ’Nother beer?” Devi asked, standing at the open fridge, a cocky smile on her lips. The rest of us were sitting at the kitchen table.
“No, thanks. I think I’ll grab some water, though.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Winnow offered.
As Devi and Boyd finished another beer each and played some game I didn’t recognize, I joined Winnow at the sink and took the glass of water she’d filled for me.
“Thank you.” I smiled at her shyly. Or goofily. Not sure which.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” She put her hand on my waist. “Did I mention how glad I am that you’re here?”
My neck grew sweaty in a matter of milliseconds. “Me too.” In my mind, I moved closer to her and placed my free hand on her hip. In reality, I pretended to pick lint off my shirt.
Winnow’s hand dropped from my waist as she got a glass of water for herself. “How was dinner with Deidre and your dad?” she asked.
Happy to talk about someone other than myself, my words rushed out. “Deidre? She’s amazing. And hilarious. And beautiful. I think my dad wants to be her BFF.”
“Ha-ha, that’s awesome.” She gave me a crooked smile as she filled her glass from the tap. A few strands of her hair escaped down the back of her neck, and I had a strong urge to run them through my fingers.
“Yeah, it is,” I said, and probably blushed a little too.
“Deidre lives around here, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“We should all get together sometime—check out a drag show or something. Would you be up for that?”
We were already making plans for a next time, and my face lit on fire. “Yeah, totally.”
“Cool.”
“Cool,” I echoed, and guzzled my water like I’d just crawled out of the desert.
When we arrived at the famed Pool House, it looked an awful lot like a backyard with a bunch of kiddie pools set up across the lawn. The pools varied in size, shape, and pattern, but all were about a foot high and half-filled with water. Some people sprawled across them while others lounged in chairs and soaked their feet. One pool even had a makeshift net arched across it, and two girls sat facing each other in the water, prodding a balloon back and forth over the wobbly apparatus. Red and orange patio lanterns glowed along the wooden fence enclosing the yard, and plucky Hawaiian music floated across the scene from speakers set up on a patio.
We each paid eight dollars to enter and then wove our way through the puffy, jiggling pools to the far corner of the lawn, where a small bar stood. Devi and Boyd waited in line to get some drinks for themselves. I felt a little blurry and figured that the two beers I’d already had were sufficient for now.
I surveyed the yard. “This is hilarious. And brilliant.”
“Right?” Winnow responded. “A couple of guys started it a few years ago and it just keeps popping back up each summer. And don’t worry, it’s superclean, too.”
Why would she say that? Does she think I’m a total neat freak? Because I’m boring? God. She definitely thinks I’m boring.
I tried to calm my mind, but since leaving Winnow’s house, moments like this kept jabbing into my brain, forcing me to reconsider my decision to come here.
As if Winnow could read my mind, she followed with, “I’m super type A, and that was my initial thought when I first saw this place—public pools are pee-filled and gungy. This is going to be even worse. But it’s not. I promise.” She grabbed my hand as she said this and gave it a squeeze.<
br />
Every time she touched me, my chest tightened.
She didn’t let go of my hand either. This made it pleasantly difficult to breathe.
We stood there, holding hands, and I racked my brain trying to think of something cool, or funny, or exciting to say. But nothing came. Guess it’s hard to generate any of those things when you’re none of them.
I could feel her looking at me, and the jabbing in my head continued. My eyes started to moisten. Oh no. Not this again. I pulled my hand out of hers and looked away. “Does this place have a washroom? I really need to pee.” Fake laugh.
“Yeah, for sure. It’s just through that side door of the house over there and to the right. You okay?” She stepped closer.
“Yeah, totally. I just need to break the seal.” That was something people said when they were drinking, right?
“Okay. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Okay, cool.” I walked past her toward the house, staring at the ground the whole way. Once in the relative safety of the washroom, I leaned against the wall and tried to quell the tears.
Without Deidre’s glitter sprinkled over me, what did I have to offer these people? What if the other night at the festival was a fleeting instance of sorcery concocted by Deidre’s enchantments? After all, everything following that night had been anything but magical. It was like I’d found a portal from my unremarkable, everyday existence into a fantastical realm, and now access had been slammed shut. And I had no idea how to reopen it. Not here. Not without some help. If I didn’t think of something quick, all these people would realize what a flop I was. Winnow would realize.
A cheer arose from outside, and I noticed a small window facing onto the yard. I pulled back the curtain to see what was happening, wiping the wet from my eyes.
Boyd had stripped down to his SpongeBob underpants and was performing an energetic dance in one of the pools while chugging back beer after beer. Every bit of his body shook along with the bouncing music, and his audience couldn’t get enough.
Drinks. Confidence. Fans.
Got it.
I splashed some water on my face and used the too-damp-already hand towel to pat myself as dry as possible. Meeting my eyes squarely in the washroom mirror, I gave myself an inspiring pep talk.
