More than Words

by Harper Bliss

  “That would be nice.” I pick up my knife and fork again.

  “Hallelujah. Praise the lord,” Rocco says. “I’ve been thinking about your kitchen, Kat,” he continues. “Shall I run a few ideas by you?”

  “Let’s see how the coffee shop looks first. Then we can talk again.”

  “Oh, you’ll be dazzled, girl. It’ll be so pretty; you’ll want to spend every waking hour in the place.” He quirks up his eyebrows.

  “I’m very excited for you two,” Hera says, “in case that wasn’t clear. And very honored to have been able to help build your dream.”

  “Come in any time for that coffee on the house.” I look Hera in the eye while I remember the only half-decent conversation we’ve had—those five minutes we spent chatting in the garden chairs in the corner of the Pink Bean.

  “I will.” This time, she aims her real smile at me, and something inside me shifts.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hera

  “Have you thought more about what we discussed last time?” Jill asks, not beating about the bush.

  “I always think about what we discuss. Isn’t that the point?”

  Jill sends me a smile followed by a gentle nod. “The job at your nephew’s coffee shop is done?”

  “Yep. As great as it was to work for him, I’m glad it’s behind me.”

  Jill doesn’t say anything. No surprise there.

  “I’m very grateful that he asked me to do this. I missed work much more than I was willing to admit. It’s great to be out there again.”

  Jill nods.

  I wasn’t going to discuss Katherine any more, yet I feel compelled to. “The three of us had lunch today and, um, some things were said.” It’s as though I can feel the pang of anguish that burst inside of me when Katherine spoke to me the way she did all over again. It took me by surprise so much; I didn’t have the wherewithal to come up with a proper reply.

  “Such as?” Jill asks.

  “She basically accused me of being a bigot.”

  Jill draws up her eyebrows.

  “I may have let a few things slip. It’s hard not to…”

  “When you feel such contempt for someone?” Jill leans forward and places her elbows on her knees, regarding me. I know this pose. I’d best be careful what I say next, although, judging from the pose, Jill has already figured me out. It sometimes irks me how she reads me so easily, and draws conclusions about me long before I can.

  “Contempt?” I meet her gaze.

  “That’s how I understand it. Being accused of bigotry is usually the result of displaying contempt.”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as calling it contempt.”

  “What’s contempt other than lack of respect for another human being?” Jill’s coming on a bit strong today. It’s unlike her.

  I narrow my eyes as I remember her words from the very beginning of our sessions together: we are not friends. Yet I ask, “Everything all right with you?”

  “Of course.” She leans back in her chair.

  “If you say so.”

  “Don’t deflect, Hera.”

  “I always believed it wasn’t your place to judge and I just felt rather judged by you.”

  Jill nods and purses her lips. “That wasn’t my intention. I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted.” I’ve lost my train of thought and am not immediately sure how to continue.

  Jill re-crosses her legs. “I’ve been thinking about last week’s session as well.”

  “Have you?” In all the time I’ve been seeing Jill, it’s the first time she’s said something like that. I imagine she must think about her clients, but this is the first time she’s put it like this.

  “What you told me about Katherine piqued my curiosity so I did some research on lesbian escort agencies.” Jill states this so matter-of-factly, as though it’s something people research all the time. Maybe they do.

  “Did you now.” Despite my disgust for the profession, my curiosity is piqued as well.

  “It’s an intriguing subject,” Jill says.

  “Maybe. In a way.”

  “You’re not curious at all about how it all works?”

  “No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “But I am curious about your curiosity.”

  “So you don’t mind if I share some of my findings?”

  “Of course not.”

  Jill clears her throat. “I came across an interview with the owner of a lesbian escort agency in England. In Manchester or somewhere like that. It was very enlightening.” She pauses a moment before continuing. “I understand where the mind goes when you hear the word ‘escort’ and the associations it immediately conjures up. Exploitation. Illegality. Human trafficking. The unsavoriness of paying for something as intimate as sex. But that’s not all it is. Especially not when it comes to escorts who only work with female clients.”

  “I can imagine that’s the picture the madam of any brothel wants to paint,” I deadpan.

  “For some of the clients, it’s the only intimacy they experience—the only form of intimacy they have access to.”

  “How can you even call it intimacy?” I ask.

  “Because that’s what it is, no matter the exchange of money. It’s a service. Touch is so important. Imagine never being touched again.”

  “I can imagine it very well. In fact, it’s my preference,” I blurt out.

  Jill nods. She probably has me exactly where she wants me again.

  “You may think it’s your preference, Hera, but the majority of people need this basic intimacy. Leave them unfulfilled for too long and people just wither away.”

  “I haven’t been touched in quite some time and I’m doing just fine. No urges to call on the services of an escort agency just yet, thank you very much.” I know I sound defensive, and this is the last place for me to be in defense mode, but Jill’s pushing my buttons—and she knows it.

  “So, you can look me in the eye and honestly tell me that you haven’t imagined touching Katherine?”

  My eyes go wide. “I’m really worried now, Jill. It sounds to me as though you’re starting to lose your mind.”

  “I can assure you I’m completely sane.” Her gaze on me is piercing.

  “I admitted before that I think she’s an attractive woman. Way too glossy for me though. Why is all that make-up required, anyway? Isn’t that catering to the male gaze?”

  “I vividly recall you telling me that Sam liked her lipstick and mascara.”

  “She did, but… that’s different.” My voice breaks a little. “That was Sam.” Just like that, the void her death left me in envelops me again.

  Jill doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and nor do I for fear my voice will break even more.

  “Could it be,”—Jill’s voice is so soft, I can barely make it out over the hum of traffic outside—“that Katherine somehow reminds you of Sam?”

  I shake my head with vigor. “God, no. Sam was an entirely different person than Katherine. For starters, she wasn’t a prostitute!” My voice shoots up.

  “I mean physically. The way she dressed and how she liked to put on make-up, pretty herself up before you took her out on a date?” Jill insists.

  “No,” I repeat.

  “Okay,” Jill says. “But will you think about it? We can come back to this next week.”

  “I can usually guess where you’re trying to go with something,” I say, “but the direction of this conversation is leaving me completely stumped.” I shake my head again. “Katherine has nothing to do with Sam. And Sam’s dead.”

  “Will you see her again?” Jill asks. For a split second, I think she’s referring to Sam and I’m ready to declare her mental—again. Then I realize she’s talking about Katherine.

  “At the opening of the Pink Bean. I thought about making an excuse not to go, but Rocco will never stand for that, so I guess I’ll be going.”

  “I think it’s good that you’ll see her again,” Jill says. “But let’s move on, for
now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kat

  “This is it, K.Jo,” Rocco says. He stands in between Chris and me and squeezes both our hands. I’m happy for him that he gets to share this with his partner. Not for the first time since I quit the agency, I feel a twinge of something, a sadness, at not having a significant other to share such a momentous occasion with. “We’re about to open for business.”

  I glance around our coffee shop. One wall is made up out of a huge vintage shelf unit. Books fill the open spaces, easily accessible for our customers to peruse while they have their coffee. Plant baskets hang from the ceiling, adding a green touch.

  I’ve been to Rocco and Chris’s home often enough to know that Rocco has great interior design taste, but I’m blown away by the intimate atmosphere he’s been able to create. I’m proud that he’s my partner in this venture—and he’ll have a way with the customers, for sure.

  “Let’s do it. Let’s open that door, darling.” He gives my hand another squeeze and kisses me on the cheek.

  I head to the door and unlock it, then open it wide. We’ve invited our friends and families for a first-day opening party. We’ve had a sign outside for the past week announcing it so we’re hoping some people from the neighborhood will drop in as well.

  Kristin has graciously lent us some of her staff from the Pink Bean in Darlinghurst, so Rocco and I can mingle instead of making coffee. Our real test will be tomorrow. Today, we celebrate.

  I glance out the window and spot a familiar red truck parked in front of the shop. Hera’s. Has she been waiting for the door to open? How eager. She looks to the side, out of the open car window and our eyes meet. I give her a smile. She’s not dressed in her usual worse-for-wear T-shirt, but has donned a bright white shirt with a very stiff collar. From where I’m standing, it looks brand new, as though she bought it for the occasion.

  She sends me a small smile back, then gets out of the car, a bunch of flowers in her hand.

  “Hi.” I’m not sure how I feel at seeing her again; all I know is that I feel something. Probably just nerves because she’s the first person to arrive. “You’re very punctual.”

  “Yeah.” She shoves the flowers into my chest. “I figured it’d be best to get here before the crowd does.”

  “Thanks, Hera. These are lovely.” I hold the flowers away from me to admire them.

  “Congratulations,” she says. Her mouth closes, then opens again, but no more words come out. She gives me a quick, rather cold pat on the shoulder, and heads inside to greet Rocco, who’s squealing and jumping up and down in delight.

  I walk to the back room where I put the flowers in some water. This is just the storage room, but even here Rocco has worked his magic and made the shelves look pretty by applying some funky wallpaper to them.

  “It’s all in the details, Kat,” he said. “And if you can choose between having a smile on your face when you get something from the shelf or not, wouldn’t you always opt for the smile?” He’d beamed a wide smile at me then.

  When I come out of the storage room into the coffee shop, Hera’s still the only one there. It’s not even two o’clock yet—the official time we put on the invitation. I join Rocco, Chris and Hera.

  “It’s really gorgeous, Rocco,” Hera says, and I can hear the pride in her voice.

  “Can I get you a coffee?” I ask. “Or something stronger, to mark the occasion?” I smile at Hera. She looks different after she’s gone all soft as a result of her nephew’s accomplishments.

  “A glass of champers for Auntie Hera, of course!” Rocco shouts. “I’ll get it.” He heads behind the counter, to the large fridge which, for the occasion, is stocked with bottles of bubbly. Chris follows him, leaving me alone with Hera.

  “Are you on your next job?” I ask, to fill the silence.

  She nods. “A remodel just a few blocks away from here, actually.”

  “Ah, will we be seeing you around for a few cups of black coffee then?”

  “Maybe. If I forget my flask,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I can’t help but chuckle. This is one of the happiest days of my life and just a minute ago, Hera herself was radiating happiness for Rocco, but a few moments alone with me seems to have returned her to her usual self—at least the self she has chosen to be when she is around me.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

  “You really don’t like me, do you?”

  “It’s nothing personal. Really,” Hera says.

  “That’s a good one. Of course it’s personal. It usually is when you don’t like someone.”

  “Maybe you’re used to everyone liking you all the time, but I’m not. It’s not a big deal.” Hera turns away from me a little.

  “Maybe you can recommend someone else to renovate my kitchen then,” I say, my tone a little menacing. I’m fine with not being liked by everyone—which only puts me at an even keel with the rest of the human population—but I’m not fine with Hera raining on my parade, today of all days.

  “Sure.”

  Rocco and Chris return, each with two glasses of sparkling wine in their hands. They hand one to both me and Hera.

  “To the Pink Bean,” Rocco says.

  “To the Pink Bean,” I repeat, pride swelling inside me.

  Hera and Chris join us in a toast. I decide to forget about Hera’s negative vibes. This is my and Rocco’s day. This is our dream, one that has come true well ahead of the vague planning we always entertained between us, sometimes more as a way to fill conversation than anything else. Then Jessica introduced me to Kristin and now here we are.

  I check my watch. It’s a few minutes past two and there’s movement outside. A few people walk past the window. They’re all women.

  “The guys had better arrive soon before I wither away from too much estrogen around me,” Rocco says.

  Chris bursts out into a chuckle. Hera’s face remains expressionless.

  Kristin’s the first to walk in. She has seen the place already, of course, but she still takes a moment to admire it—for the sake of her company.

  Sheryl heads straight toward us and throws her arms wide. “Congratulations, Kat, it’s so gorgeous.”

  While she hugs me, I take in the women who have walked in with her. “Caitlin and Jo are here.”

  “Yes, and be warned, Caitlin’s on a mission,” Sheryl says, as she lets go of me.

  “What kind of mission?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.” Sheryl winks at me and greets Rocco.

  We are all introduced and I try to remember all the names—Micky, Robin, Amber, Martha—but more people walk in and soon all the names I’ve heard are a blur and our party’s on.

  “I know your gut reaction will probably be to give me an immediate no,” Caitlin says. “But try to respond, not react.” She beams a sly smile at me.

  “She’s been spending too much time with Amber,” Josephine says. “Too much meditation isn’t always a good thing.” She kisses Caitlin on the cheek.

  “What is it you’re trying to lure me into?” I ask.

  “I would be extremely honored if you’d be a guest on my show,” Caitlin says. “I’m so sick and tired of interviewing ‘famous’ Australians. You, on the other hand, would make the most fascinating guest.”

  “Me?” I hold a hand to my chest.

  “Don’t be coy now, Kat. Of course you would be. You’re so open and completely unapologetic about being an escort. The things you have to say would blow people’s minds.”

  Caitlin was right. My first instinct is to give her a resounding no. “I’m flattered you would think so, but I’m also a very private person.”

  “I understand that.” Caitlin’s eyes sparkle. She has come here with her pitch prepared—and what better time to ask me than on such a merry occasion? “But the time is so right for this, Kat. I’ve been pushing and pushing for more radical feminist guests, and the shows have proven successful enough for me to keep on pushing. To me, you represent the e
pitome of feminism. I would love to get the chance to put that on display in front of a national television audience.”

  Jo jabs Caitlin in the arm. “I told her not to do this today,” she says to me. “This is so not the time or the place.”

  “I’m not asking you to reply straight away. In fact, I don’t want you to. I just wanted to broach the subject,” Caitlin says. “So you could think about it.”

  “Darling.” I see my friend Richard approach from the side.

  “I’ll leave you to the socializing now,” Caitlin says. “I’ll be in touch.” She lightly pats my arm before turning away from me.

  Richard draws me into a hug, then kisses me on the cheeks. In the far corner, I spot Liz. I wonder what she would say if Caitlin asked her for an interview. I make a mental note to speak to her in private as soon as I can.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hera

  “I think I’m going to leave,” I say to Hilda.

  “No, no, no,” Hilda says. “I don’t get to see enough of you. Besides, you’ve had too much bubbly. You need some more coffee before you can drive.”

  “I wasn’t going to drive.” I fish my phone out of my jeans pocket. “I was going to be very modern and get an Uber.”

  “I’ll be damned. My sister in an Uber.” She narrows her eyes. “I thought you’d feel right at home here, though, what with all the lesbians.” She casts her gaze about the place. “Some of them are really hot.” She bumps a shoulder into mine. “And earlier, in the restroom, I was queuing to wash my hands alongside Caitlin James.” She gives a little shriek. “I just love her.”

  It figures that someone like Katherine would be friends with an ultra-feminist like Caitlin James, with all her talk about open relationships and sexuality. I hardly think she’s a friend of Rocco’s—he would have mentioned it if he was friends with the likes of Caitlin James.