Best Lesbian Romance 2011 Page 4

  The mere thought of Sara came with an unexpected bunch of fluttery feelings and a lengthy screech from the depths of whatever common sense I still possessed. We’d been friends forever. And that was it: just friends. Anything I said could destroy that. Maybe I should just do the smart thing and chicken out. Everything could go on the way it always had.

  I managed to fall asleep eventually even though I still had no idea what, if anything, I was going to do tomorrow. The last thing I remembered thinking was that Duke Orsino gets Viola, not Olivia; Olivia has to settle for Viola’s brother Sebastian. Clearly this wasn’t going to work out: it was a sign.

  My brain looped around like this through my morning shift. By the time I hit the theater, I had managed to forget that today was dress rehearsal but had succeeded in developing a whole new obsession, namely not thinking about Sara that way. Go me.

  Not being psychic, she chose the moment I was thinking about not thinking about her to wander up to me at the changing tables. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. I got in a bit late.” She smiled in a purely evil, smug with unspoken implications, sort of way.

  I felt my ears go crimson. “It’s okay. I was busy myself.”

  “Indeed? Don’t tell me Ms. Tasha changed her mind after all?” She raised an eyebrow but I thought I could detect some anxiety in her eyes. Or at least I hoped that I could.

  “‘Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen?’ Alas, no.” I wondered what to say next, but only for about two seconds. That’s the best part about being an actor, never being at a loss for words. “Just how good was this date? Anyone I know?”

  Sara gave me a sidelong devilish grin, and the butterflies in my stomach did a slow tango. “Jealous much?”

  “Yes.” The word popped out of my mouth before I could stop it and hung there in the air between us until I could’ve sworn that it was flickering like neon. Sara stared at me while I hunted for the words that would make it all a joke that we could laugh off. She reached out and pressed her finger to my lips to stop whatever I was going to say.

  “It wasn’t that great. Wait until tomorrow night to say whatever you’re going to say. I want to see if you still mean it then.” And she bolted for her costume, which I might have taken personally had I not heard Nadine yelling for us to get ready at the same moment.

  That night, I was Orsino, my frustrated love for Olivia filling the stage in every scene I had. By the end of dress rehearsal, even Tasha was looking at me speculatively. Nadine walked up and gave me a one-armed hug. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”

  “Me too.” Sara gave me a smile that lit up the theater, brighter than any of Tasha’s had ever been. But we stopped it there, and each went home alone. Tomorrow, we’d do our best and see what it looked like on the other side.

  I’d love to say that the opening night went without a hitch, but then I’d be lying for no good reason. I couldn’t speak for anyone else, but I got almost no sleep so my Orsino was off to a rocky start. I wasn’t the only one: Sara tripped on her skirts, a few of the others forgot one or two of their lines. But once we all got going, it was our best show ever. With one exception. Tasha blew her lines completely, not once but twice, as well as part of an entrance. We covered where we could, but there was no way Smythe didn’t notice it.

  The weird thing was that Tasha didn’t seem too unhappy about it. Not pleased, mind you, but not frantically unhappy either. By Act Three, she was back to being amazing, almost like her flubs had been staged. I was baffled but I waited until the end to ask. I had more important things on my mind, after all.

  Nadine gave us one anguished look at the end, then bolted up a few rows to talk to a distinguished-looking woman with gray hair and black-framed glasses. She was frowning over a notebook, which didn’t bode well. I glanced sidelong at Tasha, releasing my arm from her waist before she could pull away. “What happened?”

  Tasha looked over at Nadine and gave a real smile. “I found something I wanted more, at least for now.” She gave me a sidelong look. “How about you?”

  Sara walked up just then and I reached for her hand. She lit up like a Christmas tree and pulled me into her to give me a slow, deep, long-delayed kiss. When we came up for air, I muttered, “Yep.”

  But Tasha was already offstage, heading for Nadine and Grace Smythe. I saw her squeeze Nadine’s hand and I smiled. “All’s well that ends well.”

  “Wrong play.” Sara hugged me close and sighed happily. “Though better that than Romeo and Juliet.”

  I spun her around and borrowed a few more lines from the Bard. “But now our play is done, and I’ll strive to please you every day!”

  “Until next season,” Sara wrinkled up her nose, but she didn’t sound too unhappy.

  “For all the seasons yet to come.” I leaned down and kissed her again, and we went to change into our street clothes.

  BOILED PEAS

  Clifford Henderson

  Penny’s heart had been trampled so many times she often thought of it as raw hamburger. Or an overripe persimmon pecked to death by birds and then dropped—splat!—from a tree.

  True, she was overly sensitive. Or that’s what her mom always said when she came to visit, which she just had. And although her mom lived 4,915 miles away, her words had a way of sticking around after she left. They’d wrap around Penny like an itchy blanket. “You ask too much. Want too much. Quit looking for the pea, princess.” The pea line was her mom’s favorite.

  Penny ripped open the bag of frozen Safeway peas and let them tumble into the boiling water. It was her twenty-fourth birthday, and she was celebrating with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and boiled peas. She wanted to accept her fate. Swallow it down. The too-picky princess who could never be satisfied.

  Her cat Screech looked up from his nest of pillows on the couch. He was always interested when she was in the kitchen.

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t like this,” Penny said to him, then went back to studying the dancing peas as if they were tea leaves.

  It was silly really, to be obsessing over her mother’s words this way. She was twenty-four now and had a good job as an intern at the Natural History Museum. So why couldn’t she be more confident, like her friend Kai?

  Kai was a sculptor who taught yoga at a local spa to pay the bills and didn’t even want to fall in love. “Why would I want someone to muck up my perfect life?” she’d said to Penny just the other day. But it was different for Kai. Kai enjoyed one-night lovers.

  Penny broke up a clump of frozen peas with a spoon while picturing Kai and someone equally flexible contorting themselves into Kama Sutra-like poses, and thought to herself, I could never do that with someone I’d just met.

  It took Penny time to trust a person. She needed to feel loved.

  She popped the cork on her bottle of Veuve Clicquot and held it over the sink to keep the froth from getting on the floor. What a waste, she thought as she licked the expensive champagne from her fingers. She’d given up a haircut to afford it. Pouring the champagne into one of a pair of etched champagne glasses she’d given as a Valentine’s gift to Phoenix, her last, and longest, love, she thought how sure she’d been that Phoenix would be her forever. They’d even moved in together.

  Then Phoenix’s mentally unbalanced brother showed up, and Phoenix told him he could stay until he worked something else out. It was pleasant at first. The three of them would have dinner together, and once they’d all gone to bed, she and Phoenix would talk about how well he seemed to be doing. Then he began to leave raw egg in the pockets of Penny’s jackets. She’d reach in and her fingers would be covered in slime. She asked Phoenix if maybe this wasn’t a bad sign, but all Phoenix said was she’d talk to him. When he locked himself out and smashed the plateglass window to gain entry, Penny was almost relieved. Surely now Phoenix would have to ask him to leave. But Phoenix hadn’t seen it that way. “He was locked out, Penny. What was he supposed to do? I’ll talk to his doctor about adjusting his medication.”


  “But if he doesn’t take his medication, which he doesn’t, what difference will it make?”

  “Give him a chance!” Phoenix yelled back. And so Penny had. Until he came brandishing the sewing scissors at the two of them, at which point Phoenix finally admitted his being around was a problem. But by then it was too late. Penny’s trust was gone.

  Before that there was her second-longest relationship, Mandy, who insisted her Great Dane sleep with them even though the flea-infested giant kept pushing Penny out of bed.

  Maybe she did ask too much.

  She dipped a spoon into the pot of peas, scooped one up, blew on it, almost placed it on her tongue, then let it plop back into the boiling water. She planned to eat a whole bowl full, every last one. Even if she did despise peas. She needed to accept the truth about herself. She’d never be truly happy. Never.

  She took a sip of Veuve Clicquot to wash the pea flavor from her mouth, then began singing in her head, Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday dear—

  There was a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock. No one ever dropped by unannounced. The only apartment she’d been able to afford was too far away from the rest of her friends.

  She tucked her pink fluffy robe around her, cinched it in so it wouldn’t accidentally slip open and went to peer out the peep-hole. Screech, who’d also been startled by the knock, glared at the door as if by sheer will he could make it go transparent and be able to see through to the other side.

  The back of someone’s head was all Penny could see. Someone who had a lovely, long, black braid. No, two braids, one right on top of the other. Penny set the chain and cracked open the door. “Can I help you?”

  The someone with the long, black braids turned around, revealing a sassy-looking dyke wearing a low-slung tool belt weighted down by a hammer, a tape measure, a few screwdrivers and a bunch of other tools. In her hand was a toolbox decorated with vintage decals. She was tanned, with lean muscles, and her mouth tipped up to one side. Her T-shirt said: GIRL SCOUT GONE BAD.

  “Sorry it’s so late. But you contacted management about a flickering light?”

  Which Penny had, almost two weeks ago. She scrutinized the woman. How old was she? Penny decided they were about the same age. “Um. Yes, I did. I most certainly did. Are you the new handyman—er, woman—they told us about?”

  “I guess you could call me that, although I’d prefer if you’d call me Lil. I hope it’s okay I just came over without you returning my call, but—”

  “You called?”

  “Yeah.”

  Penny glanced at her machine. Sure enough, it was blinking. “I must have been in the shower.”

  “If it’s more convenient for me to come back…”

  “No. No. This is fine.”

  “Again, sorry about being so late, but Mrs. Dunbar’s drain in 6B was way clogged. Apparently she washes her Pomeranian in the sink.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, and Penny realized they were still standing on opposite sides of the door with a chain lock between them. “I guess I should let you in then.”

  “Only if it’s convenient. Like I said in my message. I’ve got a slot on Thursday I could plug you into.”

  “Oh, please. You’re here. Why don’t you just plug me now—I mean, in! Plug me in!” Blood flooded Penny’s cheeks. “I can’t believe I just said that! I meant, you’re here, we might as well get on with it. You know, fix the light.”

  Lil smiled, her leprechaun-green eyes flashing mischief, but Penny refused to be moved. She was not about to get sucked into another disappointment. No way.

  “My name’s Penny.”

  “So what say you let me in then, Penny?”

  Penny thought for a moment, then unlatched the lock. She did need her light fixed. As she opened the door, she became ultraaware of how she must appear. It was a Friday night, and here she was hanging around her apartment in her robe and holding a glass of champagne. Her hair was a mess. “It’s…it’s my birthday and I was kind of…celebrating.”

  Lil looked past her. “By yourself?”

  Penny nodded toward Screech who was cleaning his butt. “He may not look it now, but he’s quite the party animal.”

  Lil set her toolbox on the floor and crouched down to massage Screech’s chin. “Hey, bud, you gonna help Miss Penny celebrate?” Screech rubbed up against her hand. “He’s a real lover.”

  Surprised to see her usually suspicious cat taking to Lil so easily, Penny said, “Yeah, he is.”

  After one final stroke down Screech’s back, Lil stood. “So why don’t you show me that light?”

  “Oh, right. It’s in the bedroom.”

  As Penny led Lil down the hall to the bedroom she couldn’t stop jabbering. “It’s not that big of a thing, really. I mean it still turns on. But about a month ago it just sort of started to strobe.” She stepped into the bedroom and switched on the flickering light.

  Lil placed her toolbox on the floor and looked up at the light. “I can’t believe it took you two weeks to call. This would annoy the hell out of me.”

  “Well, I’d just had a problem with my dishwasher leaking, so it felt funny to call again in the same month.”

  Lil flicked the switch on, then off, then on again. “No one should have to put up with a light like this.”

  Penny, suddenly overly warm and horribly self-conscious, blurted, “Especially an epileptic,” and then to her horror, began laughing so hard she snorted.

  Lil looked away from the light fixture. “Hey, are you all right? You seem kind of keyed up.”

  “I’m fine,” Penny said, pinching the top of her nose to regain composure. “I think it’s this birthday thing. It’s got me kind of…I don’t know…emotional.”

  Lil sat on the edge of the bed and began unlacing her boots. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

  Why was this complete stranger taking off her boots—on her bed? Then Penny realized Lil didn’t want to get the bed dirty when she stood on it. “Twenty-four,” she said, admiring the cleanliness of Lil’s socks.

  Lil unscrewed the bulb. “Do you have a new one we could try?”

  “In the hall closet,” Penny said and went to retrieve it. She couldn’t stop thinking how considerate it was that Lil had taken off her boots to stand on the bed. Considerate and oddly intimate.

  “Here’s a new bulb.”

  Lil screwed it in. The flicker was still there. “I’m going to need to turn off your breaker.”

  “It’s in the—”

  “Closet. I know. It’s the same for all the apartments.”

  It was right then Penny smelled the peas. “Crap!”

  “What?”

  “My peas are probably dead by now.”

  “Your peas?”

  “Long story,” Penny said as she bolted for the kitchen.

  The water was all gone and it stunk. She turned off the stove and poked at the bloated peas on top; those underneath were black. She sighed. Of course she’d still eat them, or at least skim a few off the top. She had to. Because while princesses in fairy tales always got their wish and lived happily ever after, those in real life were invariably disappointed. And tonight was about accepting that—fully.

  “It’s about to go dark,” Lil called from the hall. “Same breaker for the bedroom and the living room.”

  “Do you need me to hold a flashlight for you?”

  “Naw. I got a headlamp. You just sit back and enjoy your birthday.”

  Penny took the pot of peas and bottle of champagne into the living room. She lit a candle. Screech stepped lightly onto her lap. She scratched behind his ear. “Thanks for coming to my party.”

  The sounds of Lil futzing around in the bedroom made her feel secure. She’d always liked people who could fix things.

  She drained her glass and poured another, then another. There was no use rushing this concession to her mother. She had all night. And the peas sure weren’t going anywhere.
She peered into the pot, scooped out a spoonful of green mush and sniffed it.

  A girl like her would never be satisfied. Her mother was right. She asked too much—was too sensitive. She held the spoonful up, shut her eyes and prepared to shove the spoonful of disgusting peas into her mouth.

  “Just wanted you to know I’m about to turn the breakers back on.”

  Penny opened her eyes and was dazzled by the spotlight of Lil’s headlamp. She blinked a couple of times, the spoon suspended in front of her mouth.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing?” Lil asked.

  “Me?”

  Lil looked over her shoulder. “Is there anyone else here I should know about?”

  Penny let the spoon drop into the pot and blinked back tears. She was buzzed, no two ways about it. “Nothing. I was just about to eat my fate.”

  “Is that what’s so stinky?”

  “You’ve no idea,” Penny said. Then something about being in the spotlight while seriously smashed on champagne uncorked Penny’s bottled-up fears, and before she knew it she was spilling out all over the place, telling Lil about never being able to be happy, and the raw eggs and snoring dog, and her mother insisting that she was just like the princess who could feel a pea under twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. Lil, who flicked off her headlamp and settled in on the floor across from Penny, just listened, the candlelight casting lovely shadows on her face.

  When Penny finally ran out of steam, Lil said, “I think you’re giving peas a bad rap.”

  Penny was indignant. Was that all Lil had gotten from what she’d said? “I don’t see what that’s got to do with…”

  Lil raised a hand to shush Penny. “Could I take you somewhere tomorrow? If you’re free, that is. I want to show you something. And then, if you still want to eat your gross peas, well, fine, eat your gross peas. But I really think you should see it before you go on with this.”