Alix & Valerie

by Ingrid Diaz

  “I never did that.”

  “No,” Jade allowed, “but you thought about it.” She sighed in an exaggerated manner. “C’est la vie. So, how are you going to tell Jessica that her seven-year reign over your heart has come to a brutal end?”

  I bit my lip nervously. Hadn’t really thought about that. Then again, it wasn’t like Jessica hadn’t been begging me to get over her for years. “She’ll be happy for me,” I responded quite confidently. “She wanted me to move on all along.”

  Jade shook her head. “For a lesbian you sure don’t know women very well.”

  Ò

  In the world according to Jade Cooper, Jessica was going to be jealous. She was going to be jealous while pretending she was happy. She was going to feign her love and acceptance of Valerie, meanwhile attempting to find the most insignificant of reasons to dislike her. Then she was going to try to convince me that Valerie was not good enough for me and eventually break us up.

  On my way to Jessica’s mansion the following day, I mulled over everything that Jade had told me the previous night. And although I had reminded her several times that it had been Jessica who had practically forced me to go out with Valerie, Jade insisted that she was right. But I didn’t think she was. Jessica wasn’t like that.

  It was almost six in the afternoon and to be honest I hadn’t been up for very long. My sleepover at Valerie’s had screwed up my entire sleeping schedule. I’d stayed at Jade’s until nearly three in the morning listening to her talk about lunar eclipses or something of the sort. By looking at her you’d never think that my best friend was such a nerd, but she was.

  At the circular driveway, I parked my yellow bug and jumped out. I looked up at the sky momentarily, stalling in spite of my excitement because I was feeling kind of nervous about seeing Jessica. It was a cloudy day for a change, making the air humid and hot. To make matters worse, there was no wind blowing in any direction. It was one of those days where it was best to stay inside until the Sunshine State went back to living up to its name.

  Slowly, I made my way across the gravel driveway to the front doors, the rocks beneath my feet crunching loudly under the assault of my weight. As expected, Maurice was already standing at the doorway. “Hey Mau. Long time no see.”

  He nodded his reply, closing the door behind me. “Mrs. Collins is in her quarters.”

  Mrs. Collins. How strange to hear him call her that. I headed across the large foyer to the master staircase and ascended two steps at a time. I reached Jessica’s room a short while later and found both doors wide open. A few open suitcases lay on the waterbed, slightly sinking into the mattress, but Jessica was nowhere in sight. Out of habit and perhaps even instinct, I headed to the balcony and found her in her usual spot against the railing. As she turned, I gasped. “What did you do to your hair?”

  Jessica’s gorgeous black mane was gone; cut short, spiking up on the sides. She looked beautiful but I was in shock. “You don’t like it?” she asked, observing my expression.

  I stepped forward to get a better look and shook my head, smiling. “No, I love it. You look great. I’ve just never seen you with short hair before.”

  Jessica smiled and closed the distance between us. “I’ve missed you,” she stated, pulling me close for a hug.

  She always smelled like vanilla. I’d never figured out if it was some kind of body spray or her shampoo or both things mixed together, but she always smelled fantastic. I swallowed and forced myself to pull away from her embrace. “Where’s Mathew?”

  She motioned for me to sit down on one of the lounge chairs. “He went to visit the in-laws.” She smiled at the term as though getting used to the idea of calling them that, which I figured she was. “And to give Nina and Sarah their gifts from abroad.”

  “And you didn’t go with him?” I asked.

  Jessica shrugged, then sat down in the chair next to mine. “I wanted to wait for you.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m going to dinner over there later tonight so I figure they could live without me for a couple of hours.”

  I nodded, suddenly feeling strange. Later, I began to recognize that strange feeling as indifference. Jealousy is an odd thing. Even if you manage to control it, to push it to the back of your mind, it still finds a way to hurt you on some level. Like a sharp pain that fades quickly but still impacts you at that moment. I was so used to its ever-present hold over my heart that not feeling it was an odd sensation. It threw me for a loop.

  “You okay?” Jessica asked, seemingly concerned.

  Smiling, I started to nod again, then decided it was more convincing if I actually spoke. “So, where are these magnificent gifts you’ve been collecting for me all over Europe?”

  Jessica was on her feet at once, moving swiftly into the room. A minute or so later, she was back, holding a really big, and really full bag. “Go nuts.”

  I took the bag, put it down on the lounge chair, and sat up straighter to make room. I looked inside and laughed out loud. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were gonna start getting me shirts.” There had to be about twenty or so tee shirts neatly folded into squares. I pulled out the first one and unfolded it, expecting to see a picture of the Eiffel Tower or one of those “ . . . and all I got was this lousy tee shirt” tee shirts, but my jaw dropped when I saw the picture. It was Aerosmith. “Where did you get this?” I asked, glancing at Jessica in surprise.

  She was grinning. “We found this one store, purely by accident, and it was mostly rock and roll memorabilia. We went a little overboard.”

  I was already pulling out the rest. There were about ten different Aerosmith shirts that I’d never seen before in my life, an oddity considering my obsession. And about ten more that varied from Nine Inch Nails to Garbage to Marilyn Manson. I was in tee shirt heaven. When I was done unfolding and refolding my treasures, I leaned over the mess to hug Jessica. “Thank you so much. I thought for sure you were bringing me back snow globes or something.”

  Jessica laughed as she hugged me back. “Nah, I would never torture you that badly.”

  As I started putting the shirts back in the bag, I was aware that Jessica was studying me quietly. I looked at her expectantly.

  “You never told me how things were going with Valerie.”

  I was unsure as to how to proceed. Revealing everything in one sentence didn’t seem like the way to go, so in the end I went with the subtle approach. “They’re going really well, actually,” I responded, resuming my task.

  Jessica leaned back in the chair. “Really well as in . . .”

  Hesitantly, I answered, “Really, well, as in we’re a couple now.”

  I could tell Jessica was surprised though she tried hard not to show it. “Wow, I really missed a lot while I was gone, huh? So how long has it been?”

  This conversation was inevitable, so I sat back, ready to bare all. “Only a few days. Since Monday.”

  Jessica nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. I searched her face for any sign of Jade’s paranoid-delusional predictions but found no traces of jealousy upon her lovely features. Finally, she asked, “Are you happy?”

  The question made me smile. “Yes. I really . . . like her.” Granted, I’d done a lot more than like her on Thursday night . . . and then again Friday evening . . .

  Jessica caught the blush that crept up my face and she arched a curious eyebrow. “Is there something I should know?” She was watching me carefully and I knew there was no way out of the situation unless I managed to lie, which I could never do. Not to Jessica.

  I decided to go with the subtle, I’m-too-shy-to-say-the-words approach. “We . . . um . . . you know . . .” I chewed on my lower lip and watched for her reaction.

  What sat before me was a very stunned Jessica. “You slept with her?” she asked incredulously. “Already?”

  Nodding, I said, “Yep.”

  Once again, Jessica retreated into internal calculation mode. She was silent for about thirty seconds and then responded with, “Was i
t good?”

  I suspected that I’d be answering that question a lot in the near future. Not that I was going to advertise the loss of my innocence, but news seemed to spread like wildfire in our small circle of friends. “Define good . . .”

  Jessica stared at me for a moment then said, “Did you . . . ?”

  “Did I what?” I knew what she was asking but that didn’t keep me from teasing her. Besides, it wasn’t every day I got to see Jessica Heart blush.

  Her dark blue eyes narrowed. “You know very well what.”

  Grinning, I said, “I don’t think I have to answer that question, Mrs. Collins.”

  She sighed dramatically and shrugged. “Fine. Be a brat. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Nothing in particular.”

  “Come to dinner with Mathew and me,” Jessica suggested. “Bring Valerie if she can make it. I’d love to get to know her better.”

  “I’ll run it by her when I see her tonight.” Valerie had offered to cook for me that night and I was pretty excited about it. No one had ever gone through all the trouble of cooking for me before. Besides my mom, of course, but that didn’t really count. “I should probably get going and let you get to Mathew’s. You know how in-laws can be.”

  Jessica smiled. “Not really. But I guess I’m about to find out.”

  Chapter 17

  The smell of chicken and garlic reached my senses before I even stepped foot inside Valerie’s apartment. I had no idea what she was cooking but it smelled delicious.

  Valerie opened the door and stood before me wearing an apron which read “Kneel Before the Cook” and a matching chef’s hat.

  Giggling, I planted a kiss on her cheek. “You’re cute,” I informed her and entered the apartment.

  “Thank you,” she answered, shutting the door after me. She turned to address me but by then I was already in the kitchen attempting to identify the meal in progress. I had no luck.

  “What are you making?” I asked, leaning over the stove to take a peek at the contents in one of the pots. “I see noodles. I see green stuff. What is this?”

  Valerie was beside me a moment later. “The green stuff is spinach. And we,” she paused to hand me a wooden spoon and place the chef’s hat on my head, “are making Chicken Penne.”

  I pushed the hat up a little to keep the rim from covering my eyes. “We?” I looked at the spoon in my hand. “Do I look like Emil to you?”

  She looked confused. “Who?”

  “You know, that guy on the Food Network. He likes to kick things up a notch by adding alcohol to everything and saying ‘bam’ a lot.” I demonstrated with a hand gesture.

  “You mean Emeril.” She smiled. “I didn’t take you for the Food Network watching type.”

  Shrugging, I responded, “Well, I love food. I just prefer not to cook it myself. Watching other people make it, however, is quite exciting.” I pointed to the wooden spoon in my right hand with my left. “What do you want me to do with this, Fat Lady Number One?”

  Valerie went to answer then paused, frowning. “Are you calling me fat?”

  I held up the handle of the spoon next to her and looked back and forth between them as though trying to compare. “Yes. Obese. Now, hurry up and give me instructions, I’m starving.”

  Valerie stuck a piece of chicken in my mouth. “Work on that.” Then she motioned to the pot of noodles. “Stir.”

  I saluted while chewing. “Mm, good chicken.” Then I proceeded to stir. I fell quiet as I did so, suddenly remembering a couple of things that had been bothering me. Well . . . not bothering me exactly, but definitely nagging at me. Well, one was nagging at me, the other I was just curious about. I had no idea how to bring it up, so I just focused on the stirring.

  “You know, you’re allowed to talk and stir at the same time,” Valerie informed me.

  I half turned to look at her. She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. I furrowed my eyebrows. “Ahem. What are you doing?”

  “Reading the latest lesbian rumors from Hollywood,” she responded, not bothering to look up from the issue of Curve.

  “And this helps to expedite dinner how exactly?”

  She glanced up this time and said, “I’m waiting for the noodles.”

  Turning back to the task at hand, I told her, “They look pretty done to me.” I pulled one out by balancing it on the wooden spoon and dropped it on the table next to Valerie. “Try it.”

  She put the magazine down and made a grab for the noodle. Chewing, she nodded. “Almost.”

  I resumed my stirring. At the very least, this was good exercise for my arm. Who needed a Bow Flex machine when you had simmering noodles? “I really don’t see why I need to keep stirring these things. I’m sure they’d manage along fine without my help.”

  “Hey, what you’re doing right there is an integral part of my recipe. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “Are you calling me short?” I turned around, pointing the wooden spoon menacingly in her direction and narrowing my eyes in a feral look.

  “Yep.”

  “Hmph,” I responded and turned my back to her once more. At least the noodles appreciated me. Of course they’d probably get mad at me for eating them after we’d built such a strong bond . . . Or maybe they wouldn’t mind at all, seeing as they were pasta noodles and therefore incapable of such emotion. Behind me, I heard the rustling of magazine pages. “What time do you get off work tomorrow?” I asked without turning.

  “Five.”

  “Would you like to go to dinner with Jessica and Mathew?” I wasn’t entirely sure how Valerie would take to being around Jessica, but I figured it didn’t hurt to ask. “She invited you,” I added, not sure if that made any difference one way or the other.

  “Are you going to be there?”

  I smiled to myself. “Yes I am.”

  “Then sure,” she answered, suddenly standing at my side. She stole back the chef’s hat and the wooden spoon. “Thank you for your help, madam.”

  I bowed and took a seat at the table, happy that my job had been completed without any major catastrophes. I wasn’t a klutz—not exactly—but kitchens and I didn’t really mix, unless of course spasghetti was involved. Then I was the Iron Chef. I grabbed the magazine from the spot Valerie had left it and busied myself by reading up on queer culture.

  A few minutes later, a plate was placed before me and I looked up to see Valerie smiling down at me. “Your dinner, madam,” she announced. She put down silverware on a napkin and motioned to the fridge. “Grab a Pepsi if you want.”

  “This looks great,” I said, reaching over to open the fridge door. I leaned over and grabbed a couple of cans of Pepsi without getting up (laziness knows no bounds). I placed the second can in front of Valerie’s place setting and waited for her to sit down.

  She joined me at the table a moment later. The apron and chef hat were gone and I saw that she was wearing a black and blue soccer jersey with the number twenty-three printed across the back below the name “Skye.” Light blue jeans I’d never seen on her before and her usual boots completed the outfit. I was pretty sure she was one of those people who could make even the most hideous of outfits look sexy.

  “You know, you have yet to take me to McDonald’s,” she reminded me, with a grin.

  I nodded, grabbing the fork. “We’ll make that our next date.” Which one was it now? Six or seven . . . I’d finally lost count.

  “Aren’t we having dinner with Jessica tomorrow.”

  I nodded. “All right, then the next one after that.” I took the first bite and decided at that moment that I was going to marry this girl. I restrained myself from making those moaning noises from What About Bob? though it was exactly what I felt like doing. “I must say, you are one skilled woman.”

  Valerie grinned. “Thank you kindly. Do I pass?”

  “You more than pass. Your cooking patch is in the mail.” We fell silent for a while as we both enjoyed our meals in companionable silence. Ev
entually, I dared to break the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

  Valerie looked up from her plate and stared at me expectantly. “Sure.”

  I chewed on my lip wondering why I didn’t just let it go. “Well, I’m probably going to sound like a really big jerk for asking this, but it’s sort of been bothering me.”

  If I didn’t have her full attention before, I clearly had it now. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, you said your mom left you when you were two,” I started, feeling really stupid for bringing this up but knowing it was a bit too late for backtracking, “yet you told me your mom was the only person you knew who liked popcorn without butter.”

  Valerie stared blankly at me for a moment. “This is what’s been bothering you?”

  I’m sure I blushed.

  She smiled. “Remind me never to lie to you, since you’re obviously a stickler for details.”

  I arched a brow. “Did you lie to me?”

  “No! I just didn’t tell you the entire story.” She shrugged. “The topic of my mother isn’t one of my favorites so I tend to be vague on the subject.”

  I nodded, curious to know the rest of the story, yet afraid to push her any further. I didn’t want to force her to tell me something she didn’t want to talk about. Especially since it was obvious the matter caused her pain.

  She was quiet for a few seconds then looked up at me. “She left when I was two. Then she came back when I was eight, begging my dad to take her back. Apparently things didn’t go well for her wherever it was she’d run off to and she was desperate. I knew she was just using him but he didn’t care ’cause he was too blinded by love or whatever.” She shrugged again. “Well, anyway, she stayed around until I was about thirteen, then she ran off again. Last time I heard from her she was in Miami. But that was a long time ago . . .”

  “Is that why you moved down here?” I asked carefully.

  Valerie looked away. “No . . . not exactly. I mean, it had been my plan to find her when I turned eighteen. I vowed to move down here and track her down wherever she was and give her a piece of my mind.” She paused and I was afraid she was going to cry. “I was really angry.” She glanced at me. “But then I got the scholarship with Miami and the job at the club and somewhere along the line I stopped caring. Or at least, I stopped trying to justify my screwed up existence with her absence. I mean, what would I even say to her if I found her? ‘You suck. I hate you’? What would that accomplish in the grand scheme of things? So I let it go.”