Back Talk (9 page)

“Oh, how nice. I like the deck,” Hilton said. “Do you need to go out?” she asked Shannon. Apparently not, as Shannon lay down on the braided rug in front of the doors and seemed content.

“That’s a good spot,” Anne said. She never thought she’d be concerned about a dog guest but she was now. She pulled two Amstel Light beers from the rounded, retro, turquoise fridge. All the appliances in the kitchen were art deco colors and the walls were painted a light yellow.

“I didn’t think they made this kind of stuff anymore,” Hilton said, indicating the appliances.

“Neither did I, but Gerald found a company that makes all this stuff in southern California, so here we are in his dream kitchen.”

“Is he like an interior designer or something?”

“Not yet but he’ll probably end up being one. He works in marketing at the moment. It’s kind of a progression—being straight, getting married and then deciding he liked boys.” Anne took a sip of beer. She had yet to share any of this with anyone else.

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She was just as guilty as Hilton when it came to playing it close to the vest. She didn’t like people knowing too much about the things she truly held precious. Her pain was one of them. It was the one great failure of her life and it still burned even though a year and a half had passed. A first-year psych student could tell her that this was a bad plan and she probably did need some counseling, but to what end? She could pay someone to sit and listen in an office somewhere. She would use copious amounts of Kleenex while she told some bespectacled stranger that she was still angry and hurt.

Instead, she told her pickle-heiress new friend and employee the worst story of her life.

“Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up. It’s not like you can hope to compete.”

Anne laughed. “Not unless I miraculously sprouted a penis in the middle of the night.”

“Like those sea monkey things that kids grow.”

“What are those things exactly?” Anne asked.

“They’re tiny brine shrimp. Have you been to therapy?” Hilton asked out of the blue.

“No. I mean, what’s the point?” Anne was taken aback. They’d gone from shrimp to shrinks. “He’s got his life and I’ve got mine.”

“My father sent me to therapy for years. I don’t think it accomplished much. I did a lot of coloring and we played games but that was about it.” Hilton finished her beer.

“You want another one?”

“Sure.”

“After your mother died?” Anne finished her beer and got them both another.

“Yeah, I guess they thought the trauma of seeing my mother dead on the beach was too much for a six-year-old. They never knew I helped her. We strapped the diving weights on together.

She kissed me good-bye and then went off into the Sound. I knew she wasn’t coming back. She was so unhappy except for that day.

That day she was happy. I missed her but I can’t help thinking she was better off.”

Anne tried to imagine Hilton as a child standing there watching 61

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the whole thing—the disconnect must have begun at that very moment. Attempting to lighten the mood, knowing almost intrinsically that if she didn’t she’d lose Hilton again to that remote place, she said, “So basically, you’re saying therapy is stupid.”

Hilton laughed. “Not exactly. We all need some psychic tweaking now and then. Therapists tell you what you already know but refuse to admit to yourself. So if you can get yourself to cowboy up you’ll save yourself a ton of cash and keep a lot of tissue out of the landfill.”

“Okay, I’ll cowboy up. I’m pissed off that the love of my life dumped me. There, I said it.”

“Do you feel better?”

“No.”

“But you didn’t waste a hundred bucks finding that out.” Hilton took another swig of beer. Shannon rolled on her side and promptly fell asleep.

“Is that how much they charge?”

“A good one.”

“Let’s go sit in the living room. It’s more comfortable. I think I’d take my hundred dollars and buy a nice shirt and a box of really expensive chocolates and that’s how I’d feel better.”

Hilton laughed again.

“What?” Anne asked. They both plopped down on the couch.

Anne grabbed the remote and clicked on the gas fireplace.

“Sometimes you remind me so much of the woman who should be my girlfriend.”

“Who’s that?”

“My roommate Liz, the woman who brought you upstairs.

She’s all the things I admire and respect.”

Anne kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet under her. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“No.”

Anne was momentarily stunned.

“I’m kidding. Shoot.”

“What exactly is the deal with you and Natalie?”

“Boy, you had me freaked for a minute there. I thought you 62

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were going to ask something serious.” Hilton took off her sneakers, and Anne thought she might be starting to relax. She had the impression that Hilton didn’t relax well. Hilton continued, “That’s more like public information. Nat is basically a bitch-cunt-whore and I’m perfect.”

Anne nearly choked on her beer.

This really made Hilton laugh. “No, really, we are each other’s first loves and it’s gone bad. We probably should call it quits, but we grew up together and it’s hard to let go. Nat got thrown out of her house when she was fourteen and she came to live with Gran and me.”

Anne put her beer down on the end table, being careful to use a coaster. It was one of Gerald’s pet peeves and it still stuck with her.

She positioned a pillow behind her head. Her neck was killing her.

She needed to go to the chiropractor. She had one more question.

It was one Gerald couldn’t answer or wouldn’t answer.

“You can ask it.” Hilton met her gaze.

“Ask what?” Anne made a semi-gallant attempt, just for the sake of appearances, to look innocent. It failed. She could tell by the look of Hilton’s face.

“It’s the question every straight woman eventually asks a lesbian. How does it work? What happens to make you cross that line?”

“All right, I admit it. Gerald gave some lame excuse about how it just happened and one day he was in love with another man. I don’t buy that.”

“He’s not completely off base. I think deep down we all have an inkling that something isn’t quite right in the House of Straight.

We play along for as long as we can until one day the right person with the right spark comes along and burns down the house. I just remember being sixteen and late one night Nat plants this kiss on me and tells me she’s in love. Next thing I know all those weird feelings I had at soccer practice and those other intense strange friendships all make sense. I knew then that I liked women, but it took Nat’s rash bravado to bring it all to the surface.”

“What did your grandmother think about all this?”

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“We never told her. I was twenty-four when she died and I never had a boyfriend. She knew.” Hilton shrugged. “I don’t think she really cared. She wasn’t that fond of men herself. When she got sick I started to try and explain things but she stopped me. She said there were two things I must do—be happy, and if I ever did get married make damn sure the bastard signed a prenuptial agreement.”

“Smart lady. So it really does just happen.”

“If there’s a seed …” Hilton yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“We better be done. Let’s go get you and Shannon set up. Does she need a bowl of water?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Anne got a bowl of water and they collected Shannon.

“You know she’s going to sleep on the bed,” Hilton said as they entered the guest room. Hilton stared at the tall rows of bookcases filled with tattered paperbacks that took up one wall of the room.

“And it’s quite all right,” Anne said.

She turned back to look at Anne. “The books in the living room were Gerald’s and these are yours, correct?”

“You got it. I love mystery novels.”

“It’s quite a collection,” Hilton said.

Anne pulled down the quilt and fluffed up the pillows. “Sleep tight, Hilton.”

“You too.”

Anne went to her own room and got undressed. She was glad she’d talked about Gerald tonight. Maybe she was healing. It was starting to feel like it wasn’t her fault after all. Hilton was right—she couldn’t have competed. And what sort of marriage would it have been if Gerald had persisted in living a lie? She lay down and adjusted the pillow so her neck didn’t throb.

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Hilton ended up spending the next day with Anne. They went to Pike Street Market and added themselves to the throng of Saturday afternoon shoppers. Instead of breakfast, they went to Iver’s Restaurant and had fried clams and fish and chips. Anne tried Hilton’s fried clams and insinuated that they were batter-dipped rubber bands. Then they went shopping.

“What do you mean you don’t understand how to buy clothes?”

Anne asked.

They were standing in front of the Body Boutique, the sex toy store where the infamous purple dildo had no doubt been purchased. Anne insisted it had been purchased at a gag shop. Hilton was showing her otherwise.

“I just don’t get it. I wear this stuff”—Hilton pointed to her camo-wear— “because I know it matches. I don’t have to make any decisions.”

“Like those little matching outfits they make for toddlers,”

Anne said brightly.

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Hilton glared at her.

“I meant that in a nice way.”

“So I’m textile-challenged. Do you want to go in and take a look around?”

“No! I don’t think that’s a good idea. Mind you, not that I’m afraid. I’m not, but I can just envision me getting spotted by one of my listeners and it gets all over town. I can see the news blurb now.

Talk show host caught in dildo shop picking out the big one.”

Hilton laughed. “I guess you’ve got a point there.” The ad promo department at the radio station liked to use Anne’s face in their local print ads, so local listeners knew her. She was extremely photogenic with her green eyes and neatly cut curly hair. Hilton was always fascinated with the fact that all the rain and humidity in Seattle only seemed to make Anne’s hair look better. It played havoc with her long hair, giving it fits of fly-away strands and giant snarls. She was endlessly threatening to get it cut off.

“I have a better idea.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go get you some clothes, real clothes.”

Hilton raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not being like Veronica,” Anne said. She raised her right hand. “I swear. Hilton, you’re gorgeous. You have a nice figure.

Good clothes would really do you justice. I mean, so-called camo-wear can only take you so far.”

Hilton smiled. “You’re lucky I’m not offended.”

“I wasn’t offended by eating fried rubber bands.”

“I was just trying to broaden your horizons,” Hilton said. “I could go shopping. You know, Gran wasn’t much into the physical side of life so I never really learned those things that other girls did. I always felt a little backward in the girly department.”

Anne took Hilton’s hand. “Come on. Class is now in session.”

They went back to the car where they found a small crowd gathered around Anne’s Chevy Avalanche. Shannon was sitting in the front seat giving the impression that she was driving. People were laughing and Shannon had that panting dog smile that makes 66

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humans anthropomorphize them. Hilton made her move. “You big ham.”

Shannon climbed in the backseat and Hilton gave her a french fry that she’d saved from lunch.

Later that evening, Anne dropped Hilton and Shannon off with six shopping bags full of clothes, which didn’t account for the outfit Hilton was wearing. It occurred to Hilton that she hadn’t been home in nearly twenty-four hours. She slipped in the front door, hoping that all was quiet and that Nat had gone out. To her surprise Jessie was sitting in the living room watching a movie with a small, brown teddy bear next to her. The bear was wrapped up in a blanket. Her biology book was draped carelessly over her leg.

This constituted studying in Jessie’s world, which was why she was endlessly on academic probation.

“What’s up?” Hilton said as she set the shopping bags on the floor.

“Not much. What’s up with you? You’re all fixed up. What happened to camo-girl?”

“She’s been laid to rest. Anne took me shopping.” Hilton blushed involuntarily. She hoped Jessie wouldn’t notice. No such luck.

“Yeah, what is up with you and the boss lady? You’ve been gone since last night. I’ve told you about not making your bread where you eat your meat.”

“That’s so disgusting and it’s not like that.” Hilton sat on the couch and slipped off her new Italian leather boots.

Jessie raised an eyebrow. “Not yet. Anyway, you missed all the excitement with the cops.”

“Not exactly. We drove past and kept on going. What happened?”

“Nat and Emily got into a catfight in the front yard and someone called the cops. Nobody got hurt. The cops broke it up and made everyone go home.”

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“Is Nat with the biker chick?”

“Yeah, man, Nat’s really freaking lately. I mean, she’s not usually like this.”

“I think Nat’s falling in love and doing her best to ignore the fact. You know how she is.”

“It’ll probably pass, like all the others,” Jessie said sagely. She pulled the blanket up higher on the bear and patted its head mater-nally.

“Jessie, what’s going on with the bear?”

“Oh, I’m bear-sitting. Remember the night I tried to set Liz up with what I thought was the perfect girlfriend?”

Hilton drew a blank.

“You know, the night of your little indiscretion with Emily.”

It all came back to her in vivid color—pink hair, rocking hips, languid, wet kisses. Then she remembered the pretty blonde on the couch with the bear. “The one who looked just like Barbie’s friend Skipper?”