I didn't point out that she had hogged the entire afghan at the beginning of the movie and that I didn't think it was that cold, but I supposed that her body was used to a different climate, having grown up in Texas.
"I'm gonna freeze my ass off on the way to class," she muttered.
"Here," I said, shrugging out of my sweatshirt and handing it to her.
She paused and then gave me a grateful smile. "Thanks," she said softly. She studied it in her hands before lifting it over her head and pulling it down.
I tried to keep my smile steady as she stood, collecting her hair into a messy bun, then gathered her belongings as she headed out the door. She gave me a wave and a promise to see me soon before she closed the door and I heard her feet thundering down the stairs.
This was how it had been for the last week. Somehow deciding we were friends had meant that we saw each other every day, shared every annoyance and joke, and fell asleep at each other's houses. Mostly she fell asleep at mine, since Justine and I had a TV and a couch. Watching a movie on her laptop together would mean snuggling in her bed and that would be too romantic for friends.
Being her friend felt like drinking the watered down end of a good drink, when the ice has melted but you're still thirsty and want to get your money's worth. So you drain the cup through your straw until all you have is the ice cubes, the dissatisfaction of the diluted flavors, and the desire to order another drink, no matter how drunk you already are. Some drinks are just that good.
Later that day as I entered the laundromat with several large bags of laundry, I was flooded by a smell that now only reminded me of Faye. I felt the pleasant tension in my belly start to increase, excited by her mere proximity — which I know is not how you're supposed to feel about a friend. I was trying hard to control it. But it's hard to get your body to stop doing something it just does on its own, like breathing or pumping blood through you. Trying to get my body not to respond to Faye was like trying to stop my heart from beating. It just didn't work.
Sorting the laundry was awkward and slow, since my hand was still bound in its dressings. The stitches wouldn't come out for another few days, but the pain and swelling had gone down.
After the machines were whirring, I couldn't stop myself from texting Faye. I could see her pale gold SUV across the street, so I knew she was right upstairs. I could almost feel her warmth radiating through the floor, drawing the scent of the fabric softener into her skin.
Hey, I'm downstairs doing laundry. What are you up to?
She replied immediately, not answering my question, but giving a far better response. Come up :)
Feeling gravity leave most of my body, I rose from my chair and walked out of the laundromat.
I waited at the gate for her to come down and open it for me. She looked relaxed in her yoga pants and tank top. I tried not to stare at her backside as we walked up the stairs.
We entered her apartment, which was in less disarray than usual.
"Hey, you cleaned!" I cheered. "It looks good!"
She gave skeptical expression and said, "Yeah, I do that every three or four months."
I tried to laugh, but it didn't feel right. Something about her messy studio was sad, like she was constantly surrounded by her own chaos. But her apartment didn't seem like hers when it was clean.
"I clean when I'm stressed out," I said. "Justine always knows I'm upset when she comes home to a clean house."
My mind flickered back to my last big cleaning spree, which had been brought on by discovering Faye in this very apartment barely past the throes of passion with another girl. I sank. I didn't like thinking about that, or how I still wanted to be naked around her.
Faye raised her eyebrows. "God, I'm the opposite. Cleaning stresses me out."
"If you ever want me to come over and clean, let me know," I offered, before realizing how strange that sounded. Did friends offer to come over and clean each other's houses? Probably not.
"Thanks," she mumbled. There was a moment of awkward silence before she took a breath and plastered on a smile. "So how are you? How's your hand?" she asked, gesturing towards the dressings.
"It's okay," I shrugged.
And then there was more awkward silence. I wanted to fill it, but I didn't trust myself to not speak what was on my mind, which was how beautiful she was, how smart she was, and how painful it was to just be her friend.
I reasoned with myself that for now it was probably good to be just friends, since we were still getting to know each other and my injured hand would have made having sex difficult. I knew that was terrible logic, but it was the only thing I had to convince myself that being just friends was okay.
Just when the silence was getting excruciating, Faye looked up at me as though she'd had a sudden thought.
"You get your stitches out on Friday, right?"
I nodded.
"We should celebrate," she said. "Friday night is Cockblock. Wanna go?"
Without hesitation, I said yes.
I had been to Cockblock, a queer women's dance party, once before. I went with Justine and was disappointed that none of the girls had asked to dance with me. So I'd danced with Justine the whole night. Dancing with Faye was sure to be better.
As Friday approached, I found myself wondering how two girls who both like girls and are attracted to each other but are just friends would go about dancing. Was there a specific distance we should keep from each other, or could I dance on her like I'd danced on Justine?
Or maybe — my heart raced at the thought — maybe Faye was taking me dancing because she had changed her mind. Maybe she did want to date me and this was kind of a trial date. I grew excited at the possibility.
Faye arrived at my house that night, dress and makeup bag in hand. She seemed as though she'd already had a drink and was high on party vibe. She was excited to be around lesbians. I liked being around Faye when she was this happy.
After Faye wriggled into her impossibly form-fitting dress, she fluffed her hair over her shoulders and examined me. "What are we gonna do with you, sister?" she asked, hands on her hips. She marched over to my closet and rifled through my clothes before finding a short pleather skirt and sequined tank top. "I am pleasantly surprised," she said, as though she'd expected to find nothing but button-downs, hoodies, and yoga pants. She tossed the clothing at me and said, "Put these on."
I started heading for the bathroom when she called after me, "Wait!"
I turned back and found her holding up a finger as she bent into my closet. She picked up my shiny black pumps and held them out to me. "These too."
I loved her confidence in my ability to pull off a daring outfit. I scampered into the bathroom to change before I realized that I didn't have the proper undergarments. I went back into the bedroom to find Faye peering at herself in the mirror on my dresser as she did something with her eyebrow and a small brush. My Dutch heritage had graced me with thin, easy-to-maintain eyebrows, so eyebrow shaping as an art form was completely foreign to me.
"Underwear," I said, pointing to the drawer in front of Faye.
Faye opened the drawer and started rifling through my underwear.
I was stunned for a moment, then anxious, hoping my underwear weren't too shabby or — god forbid — stained. Why was she looking through my underwear? That was not a friend thing to do.
I had realized there were different rules for us than for straight girls. We didn't change in front of each other, nor could we talk about our boobs or waxing habits like straight girls did. But other than those absolutes, I wasn't sure what our rules were. All I knew was we had to stay strictly above water or any other kind of wetness.
"Thong or boy short?" Faye asked.
"Uh-" I stuttered. "Thong."
Faye's hand sifted through a few garments before finding my black lace thong and tossing it toward me. As she did, she looked up at me and winked.
Did that wink mean that she enjoyed knowing what I'd be wearing under the skirt she'd sele
cted for me? Was she flirting? Implying she wanted to take them off later? Was it evidence that supported my theory that this was a trial date?
I tried not to think about it as I went into the bathroom, shimmied out of my current underwear, and slid my legs into the flimsy thong. I zipped the skirt up and wondered again if this evening was a date. Did two single girls who liked girls and were attracted to each other go out dancing as just friends? Why was my brain making this so difficult?
After I pulled the sequined tank top over my head and slid into my pumps, I ventured back into my bedroom, heels staking the ground. When I appeared in the doorway, Faye turned away from the mirror. Her jaw half-fell as her eyes swooped over me. "Damn, girl," she said. "The girls will be on you like flies on Gaga's meat dress."
Frowning at her strange analogy, I said, "Is that a good thing?"
Faye scoffed, looking me up and down again. "Trust me, it's a good thing." Then she turned back to the mirror and continued applying eyeliner.
While Faye seemed engrossed in adding to her already stunning beauty, the quietness after a compliment made me feel awkward. "Should I put on more makeup?" I asked. Surely an outfit as outrageous as the one she'd selected for me warranted more than a coat of mascara and tinted chapstick.
Faye finished her second eyelid and then turned to me with a smile. "Want me to do it?"
I nodded and a minute later she had seated me on the bed. With her face mere inches from mine, she dragged brushes over my cheeks and eyelids and waved wands over my eyelashes and lips. Her closeness and warmth were so palpable, I worried I was leaning too far forward to get closer to her, to breathe her air, to see if I could taste her. After what felt like just two minutes, she patted my knee and said, "There you go. All done."
I opened my eyes and walked over to the mirror, stunned by my sudden transformation. She had made me up to be a modern-day pinup girl, glamorous with dramatic lashes and lips. At first it was shocking, but I loved it. I giggled and smoothed my hands over my skirt.
As we walked out to the street, I brought up the question I always asked my friends, "Who's driving?"
"I... dunno."
Always uncomfortable with people who didn't think to designate a sober driver, I volunteered myself.
"I'll drive," I said. "As long as you're comfortable with me maneuvering that thing," I said, gesturing toward her car.
She nodded and handed me her keys, a mess of rings and lanyards and club cards. "Have at it."
Once we arrived, we found parking right away and approached the door with excitement as we dug our IDs out of your bras to show the bouncer. The cover was ten dollars, and Faye pulled out a twenty and said, "I got you," as she handed it to the girl stamping our hands. As we entered the throng of girls inside, I felt my body race with hope and excitement. Paying for me was a sign this was maybe a date.
Faye made a beeline for the bar, dragging me behind her. She ordered a vodka cranberry and asked me what I wanted, assuring me I could have one drink and be fine to drive, since we would be here a while. I ordered the same as she had, pulling money out to pay for my drink. Faye didn't object, so I paid and tipped the bartender well, pleased to be on this side of the counter for once.
Then we pressed into the dance floor. It was crowded and hot and I could barely hear myself think. That was the point of these things, right? To lose yourself in a crowd of people who were also trying to lose themselves? As long as I didn't lose Faye, I'd be fine.
We pushed halfway toward the stage before Faye turned to face me, holding her drink up to tap against mine. Then she started dancing, almost as though to herself, head down as her limbs loosened and her hips started grinding out the beat. I sipped my drink and mirrored her motions.
It didn't take long for the crowd to shift and other bodies to press towards us. I held my ground, wanting to protect the few square feet Faye had staked out for us.
And then I noticed that Faye's hips were fitted into someone else's, a pair of hands resting on her sides as she rocked and bobbed. Someone's face appeared next to hers. I watched her carefully to see how she'd react. When she smiled and pressed back, playful and dirty as she ground her pelvis against the other girl's, my stomach sank.
And then there were a pair of hands on my hips, ushering me back against someone. Surprised, I looked over my shoulder to find a girl about Faye's height, with long dark hair and olive skin. She was wearing low-slung camouflage shorts with boxers peeking over the edge, a tank top, and barely a stitch of makeup on her smooth, feminine face. She looked up at me with a smile and held my hips steady, waiting to see if I'd respond.
Figuring I should enjoy my night out regardless of who I danced with, I pressed back.
I danced with the other girl until the end of the next song, and then felt it appropriate to peel back and look her square in the face rather than just feeling her curves where they melded into mine from behind. She was strong and fit, but I didn't know anything else about her. I looked at her face under her cute little backwards pageboy hat and smiled.
"Girl, you got some moves," she said as her eyes flickered to my hips.
"Thanks."
"I'm Callie," the girl said, shifting her drink to her left hand and extending her right, motions confident and stiff.
"Riley," I said, accepting her handshake.
"Nice to meet you, Riley," she said as she pulled me back into her, facing each other this time.
And because I liked the way she made me feel, I kept dancing with her, hoping it would make Faye jealous to see Callie's hands running over the back of my skirt.
I danced the next few songs with Callie, trying not to be obvious as I looked over my shoulder to see if Faye was watching. I couldn't quite glimpse her, so I kept grinding down into Callie, letting my moves become dirtier as the music thumped on. Callie would encourage me with little Yeahhs or a Damn girl, and it made me feel better about Faye.
After a while, Callie put her hands on my waist possessively and smiled, as though she were pleased to have monopolized my evening so far. "You wanna move up there?" she asked tilting her head towards the stage at the back of the room.
The stage wasn't used as an actual stage, but more of a showcase for people who thought their moves were particularly awesome and should be featured. Some people were sorely mistaken as to what constituted awesome moves, of course.
And then, between the two boxes that served as poor girls' go-go cages, my eyes zeroed in on Faye, writhing against a tall, blonde girl who had her hands all over Faye's hips and stomach and thighs while Faye maintained a smug smile, raising her arms above her as she ground her ass back into her.
I started to burn. Why would Faye bring me here just to ditch me for other girls? She'd invited me out to "celebrate" when she just wanted to slut it up with strangers on the dance floor.
Taking any opportunity to let Faye know what she was missing, I nodded and took Callie by the wrist, dragging her through the crowd towards the stage.
We made it up there, teetering on the edge of the crowded stage until we found enough room, perilously close to one of the girls dancing on a box, and resumed our bobbing and rutting. Callie was a good dancer, but most importantly, she made me feel irresistible.
The night wore on. Callie's hands roamed freely over my body, but I didn't mind. I lost track of Faye for a while, and then spotted her across the room by the bar, laughing as she teetered forward on her heels into a different girl, this one with brown hair and sparkly earrings. She picked two glasses up from the counter, still giggling at something, and then forged her way through the crowd, the brunette trailing behind her.
I willed myself not to care. It would be so much easier if I didn't care.
And then, magically, Faye appeared below me on the floor, smiling as she held up a cup. She yelled something, but I couldn't hear.
"Water!" Faye said. "I thought you'd be thirsty!"
I leaned forward and thanked her as I took the cup, draining it before handing it
back to her. Then I turned around and placed my hands on Callie's shoulders, not ready to forgive Faye for ditching me.
Only a few beats later, I felt another set of hands on my hips and Faye's mouth was near my ear.
"You didn't think I'd let you go all night without dancing with me, did you?"
I shivered at the flirtatious tone of her voice as a grin spread through my face and chest. My plan for making her jealous had worked.
I ground back into her once before turning around, placing my hands on her shoulders and leaning into her thigh. She bit her bottom lip in approval as her eyes scanned my torso and she pressed up into me.
For the next hour, I felt nothing but Faye around me, sweaty and sexy and making my body hum. We took several trips to the bar to hydrate and further Faye's buzz. Around two in the morning, Faye toppled onto me, slurring through her drunkenness, "Ready to go home, babe?"
I nodded and helped guide her towards the door. Out on the sidewalk, she teetered on her heels, but then the chill woke her up and she walked a relatively straight line to the car.
As I drove us back to our neighborhood, the energy settled into the quiet and the party vibe that had propped me up withered. My ears were ringing and my sweaty legs were sticking to my skirt and the leather upholstery of the car, squeaking whenever I moved. Faye was calm and happy in the passenger's seat, humming quietly to the radio.
"You get any numbers?" she asked.
Was she wanting to check that I wasn't serious about anyone else? Compare notes? Compete with me?
I shook my head. "No."
Faye pouted, sticking her lower lip out dramatically. "What happened to that one girl you were dancing with? She was cute."
Sinking into the realization that Faye still wasn't interested in me, I shrugged. "Not everyone goes to the club to hook up.”
Faye grunted a sleepy agreement and looked out the window.
Was she just a flirtatious person and I was having a hard time understanding that, or was she interested in me but only to a point? I decided to play into her game just a little. Maybe if she was jealous of Callie, then I'd have a clue.
Wherever the Dandelion Falls Page 16
