Kate Christie (21 page)

We chatted some more about families and school and collaborative essays. Then she said, “So I have a question. Are you seeing anyone right now?”

I paused. Seeing someone in my head probably didn’t count.

“Nope. Totally single.”

152 Kate Christie

“Really? I heard you were dating some tennis chick.”

“I wish.” It just slipped out, and I stared at Alicia. “I mean, no, I’m not dating her.”

“But you want to,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you kind of did.”

I sighed and tugged my baseball cap lower. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? You and Holly are the only ones who know. I’d kind of like to keep it that way.”

“You do have a reputation to protect,” she said. “But I’d say we’re even in the secret crush department. What’s the deal? Do you have a crush on this girl, or are you, like, actually in love?”

Squinting across the lawn, I watched a couple of long-haired, shirtless guys tossing a Frisbee. “I’ve had crushes before, but this is different.” I looked back at her. “Honestly, I think she’s probably straight and I’m wasting my time waiting around for her to magically feel the same way.”

Alicia nodded slowly. “I did that scene for a while. Gets pretty old.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

We both bit into our sandwiches and chewed in silence. Then she took a sip of juice and said, “You’re cooler than I thought you would be. You seem like you have a clue, Cam.”

“Thanks, I think. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Now, if you could just convince Anna of that fact…” But she smiled like she knew her crush was doomed to remain forever unconsummated.

Later, as we carried our trays back inside, I looked around the cafeteria again. Still no Jess. Maybe I’d catch her at the gym.

Outside, Alicia and I stopped near the bike rack.

“Give me a call sometime,” I said as I unlocked my bike, “and we’ll hang out.”

“Do you mean that? Or is it some insincere jock line?”

“No line.” I paused. “Actually, a bunch of us are going to a party before the LGBA dance tomorrow night. Anna won’t be around but some other fun people will. Think you could handle hanging with a bunch of jocks?” I held out my hand.

She took it and held onto it, smiling at me flirtatiously.

Beautiful Game 153

“Maybe for a little while.” Her eyes focused over my shoulder for a moment, and her voice dropped. “Okay, are you sure you’re not seeing anyone? Because there’s this woman behind you—don’t look, idiot—glaring at us. Anyway, call me about the dance, okay?”

I nodded, wondering who was watching us. Some random freshman with a crush? I’d gotten my fair share of crank calls as well as the inevitable anonymous Valentine in my campus mailbox.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said, releasing her hand.

“
Hasta luego
, Cam.” She waved and strode off, confident in her faded jeans and Doc Martens, her dark hair flowing from beneath a purple Lakers cap.

I glanced casually over my shoulder toward the entrance of the student center, but all I saw was a straight couple on the steps. No single women shooting daggers in my direction.

I didn’t see Jess before she left for the weekend. I left a message on her machine but she never called back. By the time I made it down to the gym that afternoon, the bus had already left for San Fran. Disappointed, I jogged out to the track and warmed up.

Jess was always going away and I was always missing her. Then again, I missed her even when we were together sometimes. I concentrated on running, feeling my muscles loosen and my mind clear as I pushed my body around the track. Sometimes I wondered what I would do without endorphins, to which I was most certainly, happily addicted.

On Saturday, without Jess and the tennis team around to distract me, I studied all day. I even kind of enjoyed it, especially the analysis of the feminist philosopher Holly and I had selected for our Philosophy and Women project—Angela Davis, author of
Women, Culture and Politics
. I know, a couple of privileged whitey-whites (as my Portland Parks friend John would call us) trying to engage with the writings of a black, Communist champion of the working class. But she was a ton more interesting than Catherine Mackinnon or Andrea Dworkin, I thought, and her work was 154 Kate Christie

infinitely more thought-provoking than my other classes. I still hadn’t cracked my Macro textbook. Midterms were coming up, so I’d know soon enough if I would have to end my economics experiment to keep my soccer eligibility.

After a day of studying, Alicia came over and we headed out with Holly and Becca to an off-campus house for a party before the big LGBA dance. Alicia got along well with Holly and Becca, which was a relief. We’d talked about coming from middle class families and being surrounded by rich, mostly straight, L.A.

college students—like my best friend and her girlfriend. For Alicia, being Hispanic and a woman and a lesbian, those three strikes often made her wish she would have picked a less white school, she’d said. And what school would that have been, I’d asked her. Fortunately, she’d laughed at the joke.

I warned her ahead of time that Holly and Becca were both from Orange County and semi-closeted to boot. But she said that if they were friends of mine then she would reserve judgment.

Holly and Becca, meanwhile, weren’t completely clueless.

Though they had both grown up with Mexican housekeepers, they treated Alicia as they would any new person I introduced to our circle of friends.

Scary that I was even worried about it, but it was Southern California, after all. SoCal, where there were random car-checks, kind of like truck weigh stations where if the lights were blinking, you had to stop. Signs near those road stops that said

“Caution” in English, with a picture of a man, woman and child with obviously Mexican features fleeing. Other signs with the same picture that bore the Spanish word “
Prohibido
.” Immigration was a regional hot-button issue, and even supposedly liberal Californians sometimes espoused blatantly racist views, I had found.

At the party, several people did double-takes when Alicia and I walked in together. No doubt it would be around campus by the end of the weekend that she and I were a couple, I thought, rolling my eyes at Holly as people watched us walk by. We hung out with Jeni, Mel and Mel’s roommates, a couple of field hockey players. One of the roommates liked Alicia, I noted right off the bat as we grabbed a couple of beers from the keg in the kitchen.

Beautiful Game 155

Jake, Brad and Cory, the football player, stopped to chat.

Alicia and Cory seemed to know each other already, so while they talked, Jake and Brad worked on me.

“Who’s the girl?” Jake asked.

“Subtle,” I said. “She’s just a friend. You know I’d tell you otherwise.”

“So you say.” Brad lifted an eyebrow. “You never told us about Jess Maxwell. We had to hear about her through the grapevine.”

“I definitely would have told you if anything was up there.

Anyway, I’ve taken a vow of chastity this year.”

“Like one of those lesbian nuns,” Jake said. “Only we all know you’re not in it for religious reasons.”

Cory moved closer. “What are you guys talking about? Or should I ask?”

Jake smiled at him from under his eyelashes. “Just hassling Cam.”

“Not that I can’t take it,” I said, and punched him in the bicep. He was looking good in tight jeans and a leather vest.

Being in love with the star quarterback suited him.

“Brute. Let’s get out of here before she hurts me. You going to the dance later?” he added, glancing back at me.

“Wouldn’t miss it. We’ll see you there.”

They wandered away, and back came the field hockey roommate. The three of us hung out for a little while. Definite flirting going on there—Alicia appeared to have clued in to the other woman’s attraction and was casually encouraging it.

Nothing major though, her look told me. Mel’s roommate would strike out tonight. I tried not to feel self-righteous, but it was good to know I wouldn’t be the only one going home alone.

Once we were suitably tipsy, Holly, Becca, Alicia and I headed out to the LGBA dance at the student center. There, in a darkened ballroom with music pulsing from giant speakers, I managed to forget about Jess, at least for a little while. Mostly the music was fast, and I danced in a group with Holly, Becca, Alicia and some of Alicia’s friends. A couple were exes, she told me as we danced. Her friends eyed me curiously. Judging from the looks being cast our way, they didn’t realize Alicia and I were both harboring feelings for other people.

156 Kate Christie

As we danced to the fast songs under the twirling lights, surrounded by beautiful young queer people, I scoped openly, happy to be in a safe, all-gay environment. Being out in the straight world could be frightening at times. It was nice to be able to let down my defenses for an evening.

The slow songs, though—I couldn’t pretend to myself then that I didn’t miss Jess. The DJ played the usual crooner classics, Madonna and Sinead and Prince. I sat the first few out while Alicia danced with a group of her friends, laughing and touching each other flirtatiously. When one last slow song came on as the dance was winding down, “Damn Wish I was Your Lover,” she drifted over and caught my hand.

“Want to?” she asked, her palm soft against mine.

“Um.” What could it hurt? “Sure.”

At first we moved awkwardly together. Then we laughed, relaxed, and our bodies flowed more smoothly, breasts lightly touching, my hand on her hip, hers on mine as we moved slowly around the room in time to the music. Our cheeks brushed, and I could smell her perfume. I closed my eyes, letting my cheek rest against her sleek hair. But she didn’t smell delicate or floral.

I opened my eyes and pulled away a little. She wasn’t Jess.

She smiled a little sheepishly and I knew she’d been doing the same pretending. Still, it felt nice to be close to someone I was starting to think of as a friend, and I moved in again, shutting my eyes and enjoying the moment. If I couldn’t be with Jess, at least I could be out among people who knew and accepted me for me.

Later, as we walked back across campus, Alicia slipped her arm through mine. Holly and Becca walked just ahead of us, careful not to touch as we passed frat houses blasting rock music and overflowing with Greek boys and girls.

“I wish we’d met each other first,” Alicia said.

“I know. Me, too.”

“Why are the people who don’t want us so much more attractive than the people who could?”

“Human nature?” I suggested. “Or maybe it’s internalized homophobia. You know, we don’t really think we’re worth real love so we fall for unattainable women.” As she looked at me Beautiful Game 157

sideways, one eyebrow raised skeptically, I added, “Or maybe it’s just bad timing.”

“Think I’ll go with bad timing,” she said as we reached her dorm. She leaned in and kissed my cheek, her lips brushing my skin tantalizingly. “Thanks for a fun night, Cam. Give me a call, okay?”

“You got it,” I said, and turned away.

As Alicia entered her building, I jogged after Holly and Becca. Holly glanced at me, eyebrows raised as I fell into step beside them.

“You’re sticking to this celibacy thing better than I expected,”

she said.

“Too bad no one else believes it,” I said, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets. “By this time tomorrow it’ll be around campus that Alicia and I are sleeping together.”

“But you know you’re not,” Holly said, sliding an arm across my shoulder, “and that’s what counts.”

They walked me home, holding hands once the houses on Fraternity Row were safely out of sight.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Holly promised with a look that meant we’d talk more when Becca wasn’t around. I’d made her swear not to tell anyone I was in love with Jess, not even Becca.

As far as I knew, she’d kept her word.

“Cool.” I waved at them and tried not to feel envious as they strolled away, an established couple by now, well past the honeymoon and into that comfortably symbiotic stage where you shared clothes and everyone around you began confusing your names even when you looked nothing alike.

In my room, I lay in bed in the dark, thinking about the evening. Dancing with Alicia had reminded me how much I enjoyed being close to another woman. I wanted to have that closeness again. I wanted to have sex, damn it. After dating fairly consistently the past few years, it still felt strange not to have someone to spend the night with. But then I thought of Jess sharing a hotel room with one of her teammates, and suddenly I was glad I was alone in my bed. Hooking up with someone else now would only complicate matters. Still, resolution was looming increasingly importantly in my world view, threatening 15 Kate Christie

to overtake the cons list I’d drawn up on Valentine’s Day.

Sometime soon, I told myself, I would have to move on from this ridiculous state of limbo. One way or the other.

On Sunday night after dinner I met Holly at the library, supposedly to work on our paper. As usual, though, we ended up chatting and generally annoying the people around us.

Particularly one woman with thick glasses and a broad center part—Holly called it the butthead look—who kept leaning around the edge of her carrel to glare at us and whisper, “
Shhhhh
,”

which only succeeded in bringing us to near hysterical laughter.

We could be such dumb jocks without even trying.

Eventually we left the library to wander campus aimlessly.

We ended up on the steps to the new science center, a multi-million dollar project with a sophisticated astronomy deck built into the roof. Holly pulled out a pack of cigarettes and we shared a couple. We had convinced ourselves that if we only smoked a 160 Kate Christie