Back Talk (8 page)

She’d had wild moments in her life. Being thirty-nine, shortly to be forty, did not automatically make one stodgy.

“I don’t know. She seems to have gone missing with the com-mittee chairwoman of Queer Nation. Something about flyers,” Liz said as she scuttled down the stairs.

Anne followed Hilton to the bathroom.

“There you are,” Hilton said. She stepped over a young woman’s half-naked body that lay nestled between the legs of another woman. Hilton grabbed her knapsack, rustled around inside it and pulled out her Palm Pilot. She kissed it. “Thank God.” She began scrolling through her programs looking for the codes.

“Hilton?”

“Yes,” Hilton said, obviously distracted.

“There are people fornicating in your bathroom.”

Hilton looked at the woman and her playmate. “Oh, shit!” She grabbed Anne’s arm and whipped her around. “Jessie, couldn’t you have picked a better spot?”

Jessie looked up from kissing the woman’s torso. “Sorry. We just got caught up in the moment.”

Hilton sighed heavily. “I found the codes. I had to put them in my address book using a series of fake phone numbers that when properly deciphered comprise the sequence necessary to stop the program and start the restoration process.”

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Anne took a deep breath. “I promise never to touch it again.”

“You’re forgiven. Now, let’s go and see if we can fix it.” Hilton led Anne downstairs. Her cell phone rang. She answered it on the third ring. “What did you say?” she screamed over the music.

They entered the kitchen. Liz and Hilton stood looking at each other while holding their cell phones.

“I said don’t bring her down here. Belinda is doing her circus tricks again.”

All three of them turned around to see Belinda, a woman with the largest breasts Anne had ever seen, giving out whipped cream and white Russian shots. Anne watched as she sprayed her breasts with Redi-Whip and then wedged a shot glass between her breasts.

A young woman with dyed pink hair dove into her cleavage and took the shot of liquor. The woman turned around to address the admiring crowd and spied Hilton.

“Hilton, they told me you were busy.” She grabbed Hilton by the waist and pulled her close. She kissed her deeply, smearing whipped cream over both their faces.

“Does she have to do that in front of me,” someone else screeched from the corner of the room.

Belinda gave Shannon a fingerful of whipped cream.

“No junk food. I told you about that,” Hilton said, grabbing Shannon’s collar.

“Like you have any room to talk,” the pink-haired woman said, obviously taunting the other woman.

The other woman moved dangerously close. Liz stepped in between them. “Nat, that’s enough. Let it go.” Liz said to the petite brunette who was threatening the pink-haired woman.

“Hilton, why don’t you two leave and I’ll take care of this.”

They got to the car without further incident. Shannon hopped in the backseat of Anne’s Chevy Avalanche.

“She loves your car.”

Anne plucked a Kleenex out of the console. “Come here, you’ve got whipped cream everywhere.” Their eyes met. “Hilton, is your house always like that?”

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Clearly uncomfortable, Hilton smiled. “No, not at all.”

“Oh, good.”

“Usually, it’s worse.”

Anne stared at her. This was more than she had even ventured to imagine. She knew that Hilton was gay, that she was rich, that she was smart and that she might still be sowing some wild oats, but tonight was definitely an eye-opener. Anne did feel downright stodgy. Sometimes real life was stranger than fiction. Tonight seemed like something out of William Burrough’s
Naked Lunch
.

“I’m kidding, kind of.” She went back to fiddling with her Palm Pilot.

Anne started the car and drove toward the office. “Hilton?”

“Yes.”

“So was the woman who kissed you your girlfriend?”

“Not exactly. The short brunette who wanted to kick her ass was my girlfriend, Natalie.”

“Then who was the pink-haired woman who kissed you?” Anne figured that since Hilton was in an answering mood now was the time to get it all out. She had been curious about Hilton’s life because as a student of human behavior, people interested her.

This evening, however, had exceeded her wildest suppositions about her young intern’s life.

“That was Emily. We had, shall we say, a liaison not long ago.”

“Suffice it to say, Natalie isn’t happy about it.”

“No, but she’s sleeping with some biker chick so she hardly has room to talk.”

They were waiting at the stoplight. Anne could see Hilton’s jaw tighten at the mention of this. “Oh, is this how most alternative relationships are conducted?” she asked.

“No.”

Anne inwardly sighed with relief. For as much as she disliked her ex-husband’s relationship with another man, she didn’t want it going down the drain and Gerald out fucking someone else.

Somehow their monogamous relationship made Anne feel better and somewhat justified in his leaving. If he had done it just for a 54

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quick fuck, she would have been really angry and feeling more inadequate than she already did. She was going to have to get over it someday. She just didn’t know how.

“It’s just that way with Nat and me.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Do?” Hilton repeated.

Anne pulled into the parking lot. “You know … about Natalie and Emily.”

“Hope they both go away,” Hilton said. “I’m beginning to think relationships are overrated. You seem pretty happy and stress-free.”

“Except when I mess up Web sites.” Anne parked the car. They went inside the building and got in the elevator. Shannon’s tail was wagging and it kept making thumping noises against the stainless steel wall of the elevator.

“She loves to come to work.”

“Even late at night. I am so sorry about this.”

“It’s all right. I’ll fix it. Besides, it’s only ten-thirty. She’ll just nap until we’re done. Won’t you, girl?” Hilton said, reaching down to scratch her ears.

“I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“Deal.” Hilton sat down at her computer in the empty control room and surveyed the damage.

Anne sat in Dave’s chair and looked worried. Shannon lay down at Anne’s feet and promptly fell asleep. “I hope in my next life I’m reincarnated as woman’s best friend.”

Hilton smiled and began typing.

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It was two o’clock in the morning by the time Hilton had completely repaired the Web site. The graveyard D.J. in the next studio waved as he walked past with a cup of coffee. Anne had worked out two complete opening monologues for the show. They looked at each other with bleary eyes.

“Okay, that was fun,” Anne said facetiously. She straightened up her notes. She tried to crack her neck, which felt permanently cricked. Actually, the night had been rather pleasant as they chat-ted about Anne’s ideas for the show and Hilton gave Anne a quick lesson on computer programming. Most of it was way over her head, but Anne enjoyed seeing Hilton thoroughly enthused about something. Anne realized she missed the closeness of having someone to exchange ideas with. It was times like these that she missed Gerald. They had spent evenings in like fashion.

“I think we’ll pass on breakfast,” Hilton said, rubbing her eyes.

She got up and stretched.

Shannon barked in apparent protest.

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“The McDonald’s drive-through closed at one-thirty, as if I needed to remind you.”

Shannon slumped down and let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sure we can go out to breakfast with Anne some other time,” Hilton told Shannon.

“We will. I swear,” Anne said, holding up her three fingers in a Girl Scout pledge.

Shannon turned her head away.

“That was rude. Now, you go and apologize,” Hilton reprimanded.

Shannon looked guilty. She got up and licked Anne’s hand.

“That’s better.”

“Come on, let’s get you two home,” Anne said, searching for her car keys.

Hilton picked them up from beside the computer. “I’m going to get you one those electronic key finders for Christmas.”

“What a lovely idea,” Anne said. She slipped her car keys in her blazer pocket.

They left the building and woke up the security guard on the way out. He had been noticeably absent on their way in, Anne noted. She made a mental note to mention this fact to Veronica, who would look into the habits of the security guard with the tenacity of the former KGB.

“Did you want anything?”

“You mean to steal?” Hilton asked, apparently taken aback.

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe something of Veronica’s.” Hilton smiled mischievously.

“Hilton!” Anne said. She opened the big glass doors of the building. The street lamps shone dimly, making white circles over the courtyard.

“She hurt my feelings with her comments on my attire. I actually started to question myself.”

Anne put her arm around Hilton’s shoulders. “Don’t give her a second thought. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

Hilton blushed. “Thanks.”

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Shannon jumped in the backseat and sighed contentedly.

“I’m not getting you a Hummer,” Hilton told her.

“How do you know she wants a Hummer?” Anne asked as she got in the driver’s seat. She had yet to figure out the language that Hilton and Shannon used but they appeared to communicate better than most people did.

“Every time we walk past one or sit in traffic next to one, she gazes at it longingly and then gives me a look indicating that her current mode of transportation is completely inadequate due to her size.”

“You should be a pet psychologist. I’ve never known anyone who could read animals like you do.” Anne started the car and they made their way out onto the empty city streets. It had started to rain and everything was shiny as if covered in a thin coat of veneer.

“It would be a great job, except that you have to put up with owners. I’m not much for people, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Anne stopped at the light and then looked over at Hilton.

“Now, let me get this straight. You live with three other women.

You have two girlfriends and you like talk radio, which is all about people, but you don’t like people.” She studied Hilton’s face.

This was as close to personal as she had gotten with Hilton.

Despite being secretly curious about her, Anne hadn’t managed to infiltrate her interior world. She kept her life, as Anne’s father would say, close to the vest. This made her all the more intriguing.

“It doesn’t mean I like people. One can be surrounded and yet remain remote.”

Anne turned onto Elm Street. “Why remote?”

“You suffer less collateral damage that way.”

“That’s true.” Anne saw the flashing red and blue lights at the end of the street. “That wouldn’t happen to be your house, would it?”

“I think it is.” Hilton screwed her face up in obvious consternation.

“Is this the logical end of every party?”

“No. Tonight is special.”

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“I have a really nice guest room. It’s perfect for two.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Hilton, you wouldn’t be imposing. Look, you need some sleep and I owe you breakfast. It’ll be perfect.”

Hilton was staring out the window. There were three police cars, and a crowd of women stood on the front lawn. Several of the neighbors had their lights on.

“Sounds wonderful. I really don’t have the energy to deal with this right now.”

“Good.” Anne turned the corner and they left the crime scene behind them.

They didn’t speak until they pulled up in front of Anne’s one-story bungalow. Hilton gave Shannon the look, the kind Anne had seen mothers give their children before they went to a picky relative’s house. “No hopping on the furniture, excessive tail wagging or muddy paw prints on the windowsills. Got it?”

Shannon barked.

“All right, let’s go,” Hilton said.

Anne opened the front door. “She’ll be fine, really.”

They walked inside. Shannon stood close to Hilton. “This is nice.”

“Courtesy of my gay ex-husband. Always be suspicious of a man who can decorate, cook and do laundry better than you can. I should have known something wasn’t right.”

Anne watched as Hilton looked around. She tried to imagine what Hilton would think of it. It was tastefully decorated in dark brown leather furniture and lined with mahogany bookcases that contained leatherbound books grouped in sets and small brass trin-kets placed throughout in order to accentuate the embossed gold titles of the books. On one wall was a large fireplace with a heavy, ornately carved mantel. She remembered the afternoon Gerald came home, his face flushed with excitement at having found the mantel at an estate sale. It had been horribly abused, but Gerald 59

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had restored it to its former condition, aside from a few irreparable nicks and scratches that he’d disguised as best he could. A thick Oriental rug finished off the room. He had spent months looking for that rug, making certain that the colors and the pattern went perfectly with the room. The windows had burgundy velvet curtains that were pulled back with gold cords.

Shannon looked up at Hilton as if looking for a clue to her next move.

“Let’s get a beer,” Anne said. She led them back to the kitchen, thinking that Shannon might be more comfortable there.

“Sure, I’m still kind of wired. I guess I’m worried about what’s going on at the house, but at the same time I don’t want to know.

You see, remote is better. There’s a crisis in my world but I’m not part of it.”

Shannon lay down on the tile in the kitchen and let out what sounded to Anne like a sigh of relief.

The kitchen had a huge island in the middle of it and Hilton took a seat on one of the tall chairs. Shannon got up and went to look out the French doors. Hilton went with her.