Femme (8 page)

“Mom!”

“What? Those stories are true. So I want you to be careful. I want you to be safe. You are safe, aren’t you? And what about Truvada? Have you considered that?”

“Mom! Go back inside and make sure Dad’s okay.”

“Oh your father’s fine. I just fixed him a scotch on the rocks and laced it with a half milligram of lorazepam. He’ll be asleep in about an hour.”

“Um, isn’t that dangerous?”

“You don’t think it’s the first time I’ve done it, do you? Look, let’s get back to what’s important. Are you a relationship-oriented gay? Or are you more into hook-ups?”

Chapter Ten

On Sunday morning, Pepper called to tell me I had the job at V-Bar and that I started on Tuesday. I’d be working days, five days a week, Tuesday through Saturday. She assured me it was easy enough. Mostly draft beers, shots and the occasional mixed drink. I might get on nights eventually, that’s where the money was, but for now she’d start me out on days.

It was such an amazing relief to have a new job, and so quickly. I was proud of myself for not screaming with delight when she gave me the job. I mean, while I was still on the phone. Of course, the minute I hung up I screamed with delight and jumped about. As soon as I caught my breath, I started to feel a tad freaked out that I was going to have to pretend to be straight eight hours a day, five days a week. Maybe I’d just keep the job until I got something better. I was also worried about how long I could actually pass. I mean, basically I had to speak in monosyllables and keep my hands in my pockets so they didn’t flutter about.

After a quick shower, I called Carlos and begged him to take me shopping for an hour or two before he had to go into The Bird for his Sunday shift. Since I had a job, my severance pay was now extra cash. I decided to be good, and put half of it into my car fund and splurge with the other half.

When Carlos pulled up in front of my apartment building, I climbed in. “How is Frida feeling today?”

“She’s a little under the weather.”

I offered him a twenty, saying, “Will this make her feel better?”

“Oh you shouldn’t give me money. You need every penny you have.”

“No, I got that job. Thank you, by the way. Obviously, she bought whatever you said.”

“Lynette, no one called me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course, I’m serious. You know I only lie about sex.”

It was a little odd. She’d said she was going to check my references, but she hadn’t and she’d hired me anyway. I decided to put it out of my mind and focus on one of the most important things in life: shopping.

“I want to go to a mall,” I told Carlos.

“I’m not sure Frida will make it all the way to Fascist Island.”

Fashion Island in Newport Beach was a good forty-five minutes away, so I had to agree with him. There was a closer mall in Costa Mesa and an even closer mall in Westminster. The Westminster mall was low end, but about as far as we dared take Frida. In fact, we didn’t even have to get on the freeway to get there.

Twenty-five minutes later, we were in the men’s department at Macy’s. V-Bar wasn’t the kind of bar where I’d need nice clothes. Jeans were fine. I picked out a very simple, boring pair of 501s. I made sure they were a tiny bit too big, even though it nearly killed me. Tight jeans were so much more flattering to my ass. And so much a part of who I was. I felt like a fraud in baggy jeans.

The thing Larry Lamour had said about being yourself popped into my head, but I immediately rejected it. This was different. Not being me was a financial necessity.

Carlos and I went to the sale rack and started picking out T-shirts with funky things written on them. Even though I hated T-shirts with logos, I picked out several Nike T-shirts, some superhero shirts—Batman, Superman, Captain America—and a plain black shirt with little pink flamingos all over it.

“You cannot wear pink flamingos to a straight bar,” Carlos said.

“Oh, I know. That one’s for me. I have a pair of pink shorts that it would work with and it’s only ten dollars. And if I’m buying clothes, I have to buy at least one thing I actually like.”

“You know, Lynette, if you’re going to wear all those Nike shirts, you should maybe own a pair of Nikes.”

“Really? Do I have to?”

“I think so.”

We went over to the shoe department, piled the things I’d already picked onto a chair and went over to the wall of sneakers. “Oh, Carlotta, look they have red Nikes.”

“Step away from the red shoes. You need black Nikes. Nothing else will do.”

He picked out a pair that was forty percent off and completely uninteresting.
Well
, I thought,
at least they’re cheap
. The clerk got us a pair in my size and I tried them on. They fit. My feet looked like they belonged to a stranger, but the sneakers fit. The clerk rang me up. All together I’d spent almost two hundred dollars on clothes I mostly didn’t care for. That was depressing. That was almost my entire clothing budget for a year.

As Carlos and I began to make our way out of the store, we walked by women’s shoes. I stopped dead in my tracks. On the front display was the most amazing pair of red pumps. They had a tiny bit of platform on the sole, five-inch heels and an open toe. They were also on sale, fifty percent off, making them a scandalously cheap fifty dollars. I shoved my bags at Carlos. I had to try them on. They were practically calling my name. Picking up the shoe I went looking for the clerk. When I found her, hovering near the register, I said, “I’d like to try these in a twelve.”

She didn’t bat an eye. I suspected it wasn’t her first time at this particular rodeo. The South Bay area was crawling with drag queens. They performed at Hamburger Mary’s, the Executive Suite, Waves, and a half dozen other bars, not to mention what was going on in L.A. Somewhere in the county there was a drag show every night of the week. Those girls had to buy shoes somewhere.

“Lynette, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying on a pair of shoes.”

“You can’t wear those to your new job.”

“I’m not working at a straight bar twenty-four seven.”

“So, where are you planning to wear them?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Are we going to look at ladies dresses next?”

“Carlotta, you know I don’t do drag. I do gender-fuck.”

###

On Sunday morning I was hungover. Part of me didn’t want to play softball. I didn’t want to see Chuckie; he was an asshole. I’d known that before he tried to get Lionel fired. The only real difference was now I knew he was a
major
asshole. Of course, I also didn’t want to see Lionel at The Bird when the game was over. After I dumped him at Massie’s, I was pretty sure I was as big an asshole as Chuckie and I didn’t need to be reminded of that.

My phone had been ringing all morning and I’d been ignoring it. Finally, I checked my messages. There were three calls from Maddy. Obviously, she wanted to know how things went with Dad. I was pretty sure she already knew. She’d probably talked to my mom at least six times before she’d even tried me once. I decided she had enough information about my life for now. And, if my mother was sharing everything she’d found out, a lot more than she needed.

There was also a message from my dad. That one I listened to. He was ordering me, in no uncertain terms, to join them at church. That was not going to happen; partly because church was already over. My mother was probably going to try to call that progress. His insisting I go to church with them. He’d moved from “you’re not a man” to “hate the sin, not the sinner.” I wouldn’t call it progress, though. It seemed more like a lateral move.

Of course, when it was time for the game I completely sucked. I might have been able to play through my hangover. I might have been able to play through the distraction of the mess with my family. But what I couldn’t play through was Chuckie Cooper.

The field we used was in Tustin, where things are a bit more spread out. The city supported a large green park that somehow stayed green no matter how severe the drought got. The field was basic: tall fence behind the batter, benches beyond that, a small set of bleachers for anyone who showed up to watch. We did have a few regular spectators. Boyfriends and husbands. Occasionally parents, but not often. While we were still getting organized, unpacking our equipment from Tim’s SUV and putting together a lineup, and generally catching up after the week, Chuckie called everyone together to make an announcement.

“Finally, he’s going to tell us how we get out of this slump,” Simon said.

But that wasn’t what he had planned. “On Monday I sent you all an email asking that you contact Bob Grottoli at The Bird and complain about the way I was disrespected by one of his employees last week. I’m so moved that each and every one of you did just that. It means a lot to me that you guys have my back.”

What was he talking about?
I wondered. I didn’t send an email. Why did he think I sent an email?

“And you’ll be happy to know that when we go to The Bird after the game, that particular employee will not be there.”

Crap. He did it. He got Lionel fired. And if someone told Lionel that everyone on the team— Lionel must hate me. He thinks I deliberately abandoned him in a restaurant and then got him fired. Okay, I did sort of abandon him on purpose. But I didn’t get him fired. Crap.

When Chuckie was done with his speech everyone went back to doing ineffective warm-ups. I walked over to him.

“Hey man, you know I didn’t send an email.”

“Yeah, I figured mine got stuck in your spam folder or something, so I went ahead and let Bob know how you felt.”

“But you don’t know how I feel.”

“I figured you felt...you know, the right way about it.”

“I don’t. I mean… You called Lionel names. You didn’t tip him. And then you got him fired. The right way to feel about it is that you’re an asshole.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have my back.”

“I’m saying I don’t think you’re a good person.”

“Well, that’s not having my back.”

The game was a disaster. As team captain, Chuckie always put himself on the lineup as starting pitcher. Tim was a better pitcher, but that didn’t matter to Chuckie. He always started. I was on second base like usual. Every time a hit came toward Chuckie he’d grab the ball, then turn around and throw it my way whether there was a runner coming or not. And not just throw it my way. Throw it at me. Aiming right at my head. The whole thing was kinda ironic, because in general he was throwing a crap game. He walked two or three guys each inning and we went down 10 to 2.

After the game, Fetch and Tim rode with me back to The Bird.

“We have to find a way to start winning,” Tim said.

“Definitely, we have to do something,” Fetch agreed.

“It’s too bad Chuckie is so against Linda Sue playing with us,” I said.

“Oh man, that would be amazing,” Fetch said.

“It would be.”

“What’s going on with you and Chuckie?” Fetch asked from the backseat.

“It looked like he was trying to kill you,” Tim said from the front.

“He was. I didn’t send an email to Bob Grottoli, so he put my name in for me. I told him that wasn’t okay with me. I told him he was in the wrong.”

“You told Chuckie he was wrong about something?”

“That’s not a great idea.”

“But he
was
wrong,” I pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“He’s gunning for you now.”

“And everyone’s gonna let him?”

“You bet your ass. It was nice playing with you, though.”

“Maybe you can find a different team next year.”

“You guys are just going to let him run me off the team?”

“Anyone who crosses him has to pay. I don’t want to cross him.”

“You know, maybe it would be a good idea if you didn’t come to The Bird today.”

The last thing in the world I wanted to do was drink, but there was no way I was going to let Chuckie run me off. And if I didn’t show up at The Bird, he’d think that’s exactly what he’d done. That’s what everyone would think. They’d all think he’d run me off and none of them would ever dare stand up to him.

For the good of the team, I was going to have to get drunk.

Chapter Eleven

I decided to wait until six-thirty before making my grand entrance. I’d spent the entire afternoon primping and polishing and plotting. When I got them home, the red heels were still fabulous. They looked great on (I’d taken a mirror off the wall and set it on the floor to be sure) and, for five-inch heals, were almost comfortable. I picked out a skin-tight pair of jeans to wear with them and then rolled the hem turning them into impromptu capris. I wore a nice, crisp, tailored black shirt that I accented with a rhinestone spray that had been my grandmother’s, then my mother’s, then mine. I couldn’t help thinking even my family heirlooms were fake, but you know what? As the great Doris Day once said, “Que sera, sera.” Life is too short to wait around for real diamonds. Deciding against full makeup—it really was very uncomfortable—I brushed on a tiny bit of mascara, moussed my hair into a drama swoop, and I was ready to go.

My plan was to show up and find a way to humiliate the bejesus out of Dog. I was pretty sure he hadn’t told any of his softball buddies that he’d hooked up with me. So, all I really had to do was saunter into the bar, shimmy over to Dog and plant one big, motherfucking French kiss on him. And if I had enough time, maybe I’d stick a fork into the back of Chuckie Cooper’s hand. All right, stabbing people is illegal and can get a person sent to prison. I knew I had to skip that. But it was so, so very tempting.

It was still light when I walked the two and a half blocks from my apartment to The Bird. It was a bummer that my new job was fourteen blocks away. That was a long way to walk but too close to justify a cab. And, of course, I hated taking the bus since I was convinced everyone on it wanted to kill me.

In the restaurant section, there were only a smattering of customers, the bar however, was almost full. I saw Carlos scampering about trying to fill as many drink orders as he could. I scanned the room and found Andrew lurking next to a table by the piano. A pretty girl of twenty-something was sitting there. Andrew was pouting extra hard, which I think was his version of flirting.

The Birdmen surrounded the bar. I looked for Dog, planning to walk right over and make a spectacle, but I saw Chuckie first. And without thinking it through changed my plan. I walked up to Chuckie and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and looked me up and down, from my red heels to my mascara-ed eyes.

“Care to buy a girl a drink?”

“Fuck you.”

“I hear you got me fired. You see the problem with that, Chuckie, is that now I’m just another customer and you can’t do anything about it.”

“Get away from me.”

“I’m two feet away from you. It’s a crowded bar. This is where I’m going to stand.”

“I said get the fuck away from me.”

“Make me.”

Chuckie gave me a hard shove. I was kind of expecting it, but I hadn’t thought through what it was like to be shoved while wearing five-inch heels. I teetered backward, my right ankle bent and probably sprained, then I began to fall like a tree in the forest. I was actually surprised no one yelled timber.

And then, surprisingly, I did not land on the floor. Someone caught me. Thank Gawd. I looked up to see whose arms I’d just fallen into—it was Dog. Not thank Gawd. In fact, no thank you very much Gawd. I struggled to my feet, struggled to stay standing on my now excruciatingly sore right ankle. I pushed away from Dog, looking from him to Chuckie and back again.

“Great. Caught between two assholes.”

And because I didn’t think it likely I’d be able to come up with a better exit line. I hobbled out of the bar. When I got to the corner of Broadway and Gaviota, I stopped. Even though I only lived a few blocks away, there was no way I was going to be able to walk home. I took off my heels and tried walking a few feet barefoot. No, not going to happen.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There wasn’t anyone I could call to come and give me a ride for two blocks. Carlos was working, so he couldn’t do it. When it came right down to it, most of the other people I knew were little more than acquaintances and weren’t at all likely to come rescue me on a Sunday evening.

“Do you need help?”

I turned to see Dog standing there.
Fuck
, I thought. The only way I could think to get home was to accept his help. Or call Uber and have the driver bitch because I only wanted to go a couple of blocks.

“Sure. I could use a hand. It’s two and a half blocks. Can you manage that? Or will you disappear after the first block?”

“I want to explain about that.”

“Oh please, go right ahead.”

I gave him my best Joan Crawford stare—which he totally ignored. He grabbed my arm and put it around his shoulder. Slowly, we started to walk/hop back to my apartment.

“Just as our entrées arrived my parents were seated across the restaurant.”

“Oh. And you’re not out to them.”

“I am now.”

“They saw you?”

“No, it was sort of a coincidence. I called my sister to find out why they were there, they never go out, and she roped me into dinner with my ex-fiancée. Jennifer, Jen had had lunch with my ex-boyfriend, so the cat was out of the bag. My sister told my mother and then my mother made me tell my dad.”

“Chatty family. And they all hate you now?”

“My dad said I wasn’t a man.”

I wanted to go on hating Dog, but I felt bad; I knew what it was like to disappoint a father. “That’s a hard thing to hear.”

“My mom thinks he’ll get over it. But I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter if he gets over it. What matters is that you do. You need to forgive yourself.”

“For what? For being gay?”

“For not being who your dad wants you to be.”

###

When we got to Lionel’s place I tried to walk inside with him, but he stopped me. “I can take it from here. Thanks.”

“Oh, um, I thought we could talk some more.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you thought.”

“No, I, well not really.” My cold was gone and I had thought, if things went well, we might…

“Look, you had a reasonably good excuse for dumping me at a restaurant and you do get points for paying the bill. Sorry about the extra seventy bucks I spent on desert. But you also sent an email to my boss asking that I be fired, so I really don’t feel like—”

“I didn’t do that. Chuckie said I did, but I didn’t. I think it’s terrible that he got you fired.”

He shrugged. “Oh, well…no, biggie. I’ve already got another job.”

“If it’s not a big deal, then why are you mad at me?”

“Principle.”

Then he took out his keys and between the screen door, putting the key into the lock, holding a pair of red heels in one hand and standing on his good foot, Lionel ended up on the floor in a heap just inside his apartment. He looked up at me. “All right, fine. You can come in.”

I helped him off the floor and onto his sofa. Grabbing one of the star-shaped throw pillows off the white velvet couch, I put it under his foot on the coffee table. Then I put my hands on his ankle.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to check to make sure it isn’t broken.”

“No. Don’t do that.”

“Relax. I’m a health professional.”

“You run a treadmill.”

“And I’m trained in first aid and advanced cardio-vascular life support.”

“My heart’s fine.”

“Plus my mother’s a nurse.”

“Oh, well, in that case. Go right ahead.”

I knew he was being sarcastic, but I took the opening and gently felt around his ankle, carefully turning it in each direction. “Yeah, that feels like it’s just a sprain.”

“Just a sprain? It hurts like hell.”

“We need to wrap it. Do you have an ace bandage?”

“Why would I have an ace bandage?”

“I’ve got one in my truck.” I handed him the remote to his TV. “Stay right here. Don’t move.”

My truck was on the other side of The Bird, so I had to walk about four blocks. As I did, I checked my phone. I’d had the ringer off since noon. There were three more calls from my sister and none from my dad. That was good—or not good. I didn’t know which. There was also a call from Fetch. He left a message asking where I’d gone. Since I’d given him and Tim a ride, I had to call him back.

“Dude, where’d you go? Chuckie is talking shit about you to everyone.” I could hear Larry Lamour playing in the background.

“I had to help Lionel home. He twisted his ankle.”

“Lionel? Why would you help him?”

“He couldn’t walk.”

“But, Chuckie hates him. You’re just making things worse.” I could hear him lean away from the phone and talk to someone. “Tim says maybe you’d better not come back here.”

“I’m
not
coming back there.”

“And you can tell your friend Lionel they’ve banned him from the bar.”

“They’ve what?”

“Yeah, Bob came in right afterward and Chuckie threw a hissy fit.”

“Wait, Chuckie shoves Lionel and Lionel is the one who gets banned?”

“Well, he was kind of asking for it.”

“Whatever. I mainly just wanted to let you guys know I’m not giving you a ride home. You can find someone else to give you a ride, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” He said something to Tim again. Then, “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

I almost hung up, but then I stopped. “So Fetch, what kind of person are you?”

“What? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, Chuckie is bullying the whole team while you and everyone else let him.”

There was a long pause. I could hear some applause in the background for Larry Lamour. I imagined for a moment it was for me, since I’d finally said what was on my mind. Then Fetch said, “I gotta go, man.”

He clicked off and I put my phone into my back pocket. I figured that was the end of me and gay softball. That sucked. I’d really enjoyed being on the team. I felt like I fit. I was going to miss that feeling. Then I had a really sad thought. Maybe that’s why the guys were all willing to put up with Chuckie. Because they wanted to fit in.

I got to my truck and pulled out the first aid kit from behind the seat. One of the reasons I carried it was because of the team. Lionel’s was not the first sprained ankle I’d dealt with. I grabbed the Ace bandage and instant ice pack. No reason to bring the whole kit.

Then I realized something else. I’d chosen Lionel over the team. That’s kinda what Fetch was saying to me. If he knew I’d had sex with Lionel, he’d have come right out and said it. And it was kinda true. I
was
choosing Lionel over the team. And it wasn’t just because Chuckie was an asshole. It was because I liked Lionel. I didn’t always understand what he was talking about or why he liked the things he liked, but I liked to listen to the things he said.

And I wanted to keep listening.