The One That Got Away (12 page)

I sighed and shook my head.

“What!” Ellen cried.

“You've never seen
Desert Hearts
?” Annalise said.

They immediately began to lay out the whole film for me, scene for scene, and on occasion, line for line and word for word.

“It's pouring rain, and Cay knocks on the car window, motions the professor to roll down the window.”

“So the professor rolls it down partway and Cay says—”

“‘Roll it all the way down.'”

“So she does and Cay puts her head in.”

“And she kisses the professor's cheek.” Annalise demonstrated on Ellen.

“Then they really kiss.”

They demonstrated again. Then they looked at each other for a moment.

“And Cay says, ‘We don't have to stop.'”

“And the professor says, ‘I do.'”

“Then Cay gets in the car and asks her—” they said the last line in unison “—‘Where'd you learn to kiss like that?'”

“Didn't you just buy a DVD player?” Ellen asked. “What are you using it for?”

“I hope you're not watching too many musicals, B.D.,” Annalise said. “That's a gay boy thing.”

In fact, I was watching girl-on-girl porn films. They had titles like
Girls Night Out, Vol. 34
and featured actresses with names like Kittie Hawk and Goldie Locks. The women had tousled blonde hair and long polished nails that made me a little anxious. Occasionally, their technique seemed hampered by glances up at the camera, as if to say, “How am I doing?” But my body wasn't a film critic. I wasn't sure whether to share this, because I hadn't figured out if Annalise and Ellen were erotic lesbians or pornographic lesbians. As with mushrooms, misidentification could have grave consequences.

So I changed the topic and brought them up to date with the latest antics of what Annalise referred to as “the troika.” I provided a complete rundown on Bridget's birthday party, including the menu, and Maxine and Natalie's upcoming camping trip.

“Bridget doesn't seem at all concerned about it,” I said. “For her, it's no different than the two of them going shopping at an outlet center for a few hours. You don't suppose that Maxine and Natalie will—well, you know.”

“Just think about it, B.D. Suppose you were on a camping trip with Bridget,” Annalise said.

That was one of my favorite fantasies. A women's adventure travel group offered a sea kayaking expedition to Baja to watch the migration of the gray whales. I had read and re-read the description of the campsite and the sunrise and moonlight excursions, and envisioned Bridget and me in a kayak built for two, rocking on the water beneath a full moon, marveling at the phosphorescence as we listened to the whales sing. Afterward, ensconced in our tent, what could be easier than to slip from intimacy with the natural world to intimacy with each other? I refused to dwell on my terror of any watercraft smaller than the QE2. Great rewards inspire great sacrifices.

“Maybe they will have separate sleeping bags. Or one big one that zips into two compartments.” I knew that such things existed from reading the L.L. Bean catalog. “Besides, we're assuming that Natalie is attracted to Maxine, but we don't know for sure.”

“Do you know anyone who's not attracted to Maxine?” Ellen asked.

“I'm not,” Annalise said. “You're the only one I want, Muffin Buns.”

“Well.” I said, “I haven't polled the entire lesbian community, but Maxine does seem to have an effect on a lot of women.” Certainly, I had never met anyone else who made me want to howl and dance naked in the moonlight.

I returned to a point that had been the subject of frequent discussion. “Bridget and Natalie seem so different. I just don't understand their relationship.”

“B.D., you know how Bridget sees herself, don't you?” Annalise said. “She thinks she's still fresh from the farm even though she's never lived on one.”

“OK, I can understand Bridget's attraction to Natalie—she's worldly, elegant, and refined—but then what is Natalie getting out of it?”

“Maybe Natalie sees Bridget as a kind of improvement project,” Ellen said.

I recalled a friend from high school, saying of her fiancé, “He's not much now, but wait till you see what I'm going to make of him.” The last I'd heard she was working on Husband Number Two. “Natalie does seem to enjoy telling people what to do,” I said.

Annalise shook her head. “I don't know Bridget very well, but from what I've seen of her, she doesn't seem like someone who would accept being dictated to.”

Chapter 13

Bridget and I were walking around the Village, digesting greasy burgers. She was cruising women; I was cruising pastries.

I paused in front of Black Widows Web.

“I dare you,” Bridget said.

“I'm not going in here with you. You'll make fun of me.”

“Never. Don't you want me to show you how the spanking paddles work?” Sometimes it was hard to tell when Bridget was kidding.

“Not tonight.”

Bridget imitated a chicken.

“Look,” I said, “I do not have a problem with going into this store. I just don't feel like going in there this minute.”

“Prove it,” Bridget said. “Go into the store sometime in the next two weeks, buy something and show me the receipt.”

“All right, I will.”

In fact, I was a little nervous walking into Black Widows Web. I tried to ease into my exploration of the shop by focusing on the fishnet stockings. I was starting to relax a little when I heard my name.

Maxine was standing in front of a row of floggers, caressing the strands of one of them as if it were hair. She seemed almost approachable, exuding the affability of a panther who has just finished a good meal.

“Hi, Maxine!” I sounded like Minnie Mouse.

“I never would have thought I'd see you here, B.D. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Ah—a leather bra and garter belt.” At least I had some prior knowledge of lingerie.

“Over there.” Maxine motioned to some racks on the other side of the store.

A red-and-blue-haired salesperson walked over as I started hunting for extra-large sizes. “This one is sort of one-size-fits-all. The straps just go down and across your breasts, so cup size doesn't really matter. Why don't you try it on?”

Inside the dressing room, I turned the one-size-fits-all contraption around and around in my hands. Where were my arms supposed to go?

“How's it going, B.D.?” Maxine asked.

“Fine.”

“Do you need some assistance? I'll come help you.” She had slipped through the curtains before I could make up my mind about whether I wanted her to.

“B.D., why are you wearing a bra while you're trying on a bra?”

I pointed to the reminder about hygiene precautions pasted on the mirror.

“I think that means you should keep your underpants on, like when you're trying on a bathing suit.”

“I need something a little more industrial,” I said, holding up the garter belt, with its black laces
criss-crossing through metal rings to tie at the top. “I couldn't close this.”

“You're not supposed to be able to close it,” Maxine said. “The laces stay open.” She untied and loosened the strings. “Here, step into it.”

I pulled the garter belt up to my hips, which were covered by flowered cotton briefs. The left side seam of the underpants had split. To her credit, Maxine didn't laugh at the sight of the black laces spanning a field of pink daisies. She unhooked my bra and slipped the straps off my shoulders in a brisk, clinical manner, then arranged the bands of leather across the center of each breast. We stared at my reflection in the mirror. “Let's see what else is out there,” Maxine said.

When I emerged from the dressing room, I found Maxine talking to a small, slender woman wearing a close-fitting leather jacket and leather pants.

“Yvette, this is Bambi Devine, otherwise known as B.D.”

“Bambi! How sweet.”

“You know, Bambi was a male deer,” I said. “My mother was a gender bender ahead of her time.” This, of course, was pure bravado. My mother had named me Bambi because she felt me kick during the fawn's first appearance on the big screen. Fortunately, I'd had the sense to hold still while Thumper was on.

“Bambi, dear, would you like to come to a little party I'm having? I found this wonderful kneeler at a church rummage sale. Now that I've refinished it, I want to initiate it and formally integrate it into my dungeon.”

“Oh lord,” I said.

“That's the spirit,” Maxine replied.

“Tell me some of your fantasies,” Yvette said. “I might be able to hook you up with someone who will help you act them out.”

“Well, I'd like to dress up as Alice in Wonderland and
ride on a drag queen float in the Gay Pride parade,” I said.

“Yvette means sexual fantasies, B.D.,” Maxine said.

“Oh. In that case, maybe I'll just watch what everyone else is doing, thanks.”

“So you like to watch?”

I felt myself blush. “When is the party?”

“Sunday evening.”

“Oh, darn! I'm afraid I've already got something on for that night.” Bridget and I were going to a special sing-along showing of
The Sound of Music
at Ozmosis. Viewers were encouraged to dress in costume. I was looking forward to this because it gave me a chance to relive my moment of glory at summer camp as Sister Margaretta, one of the nuns who sings “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?” I had rented a nun costume in honor of the occasion. Bridget had been practicing “The Lonely Goatherd” over Natalie's protests.

Thinking of Bridget reminded me that I had to buy something so I could show her the receipt. I walked over to a display case near the cash register. I pointed to a pair of very long, very shiny purple gloves. “Can I see these, please?”

As I worked my fingers into the left glove, Maxine pushed the material up my arm.

“It's awfully tight,” I said.

“It's supposed to be.”

I wondered whether my blood circulation would be affected. If I wore the gloves too long, would I get gangrene and have to have my arms amputated? How would I ever explain the stumps to my mother?

“I live alone, Maxine. I don't have anyone to help me get these gloves on and off.”

“You'll just have to find yourself a slave.”

Maxine decided to try on a pair of leather pants.

While she was in the dressing room, Yvette came over to me and whispered, “You know what Maxine's thing is, don't you?”

“No, but I have wondered.”

“Six weeks, six days, and six hours after the first time she goes to bed with a woman, she tells her she's bored and just wants to be friends.”

I wondered if the tsar ever got bored of his Fabergé eggs. I figured I would bore Maxine after six minutes.

I wandered over to a colorful display of dildos. There was even one with glitter.

“You know how when you touch something with glitter you're always finding it on you or around you for days afterward?”

“The glitter's part of the silicon,” the salesperson said. “It can't escape.”

I was reassured. But, although I was sure my gynecologist would not recommend it, I found I rather liked the idea of a little glitter down there. Not too much—a pinch, as the old recipes say. It could be a nice surprise for someone. “Ooh—you sparkle!” I thought even Maxine might be impressed; for a couple of minutes, at least.

“Do you have a mail order catalog?” I asked.

“B.D., why would you order something through the mail when the store is right here?” Maxine said.

When I saw the large book of nineteenth-century spanking photographs, I remembered Bridget's remark about showing me the paddles. I figured it would serve her right if I gave her the book as a gift. I knew she would blush. But what if she already had it?