Wherever the Dandelion Falls (45 page)

We each had a drink as we watched an episode of
Chopped
and made pleasant chit-chat. When it was over, Callie poured me a second glass of bourbon and clinked her glass to mine. "To moving on," she said.

That got Justine's attention. "Moving on from what?"

I gave Callie a subtle shake of my head, begging her not to tell Justine about my crush on Faye, but she didn't notice.

"Riley's hung up on a straight girl," Callie said with a dramatic pout.

"No shit…," Justine said, looking at me with a blank, serious expression that was full of hurt at not knowing what was wrong with me.

"Just someone from work," I lied. "It's no big deal." I felt heat rising in my cheeks that had nothing to do with the bourbon. I avoided eye contact as I downed my glass.

"Damn, girl," Callie said.

"Bourbon's not a shot liquor," Justine said, eyebrows pinching together as the rest of her face stayed blank. "Who's the girl, Riley?"

"Her name's Jessica," I lied, still avoiding eye contact. "I think she quit though. I haven't seen her around lately." I shot Callie a pleading look.

"Just not cut out for the industry," Callie colluded.

"I'm sure," Justine said.

There was a tense moment of silence, and I knew Justine knew I was lying. But as long as she didn't find out the truth, I was okay with her quiet disapproval. How would she find out, anyway? Her only knowledge of my interaction with Faye had been that I sat for an interview with Faye as Violet.

"So where are you from, Justine?" Callie asked, perking up as she realized we needed a subject change.

"Connecticut," Justine said. She was still blank and withdrawn.

Working at Jez, especially in the Private Pleasures Booth, had taught me that it was best when people knew less about you. I'd mentioned to one of my regulars once that I had a Master's in neuroscience, and ever since, he'd called me Smarty-Panties. It made me uneasy that he knew something about my outside life. I didn't discuss much of what went on at Jez with Justine because I wanted to keep my lives separate. Bringing Callie to the apartment was probably the biggest crossover I'd ever be comfortable with. And while Faye wasn't exactly part of my stripper life, she was something that I wanted to keep separate from Justine.

After a few minutes of smalltalk, Justine got up, taking her glass to the sink. She sounded tired as she said, "I'm gonna catch up on some bills. Nice meeting you, Callie.” And while her words were pleasant, her face was frustrated and dejected.

Trying to brush off Justine's guilt-inducing behavior, I turned back to Callie.

"Do you think the feels weird about me being here?" Callie whispered.

Certain that Justine couldn't care less about Callie and my profession, I shook my head. "She's stripper-friendly.”

Callie nodded and there was a tense moment before she reached forward, taking my glass from my hand and offering me another drink.

"I wanted to apologize for the other day," she said. "I know I made you feel awkward with my offer. I guess it's just my go-to when someone I care about is going through a rough patch. Sex is something I know I'm good at, so..."

I couldn't hold that against her. Honestly, sex can be pretty comforting. Sex can be a lot of things.

"Don't worry about it," I said, brushing my hand through the air to remove as much of her discomfort as I could. "It's a compliment."

Callie let out a relieved sigh. "Okay, good."

There was something still rigid about her, so I pointed her toward something I knew would relax her. "Want another?"

She nodded and leaned forward, pouring herself another drink. As she did, I let my eyes wander down her arm, across her torso, and nestle between her breasts. I knew her breasts intimately; not only had I pressed against them naked in the Box at least once a week for the past nine months, but my mouth had been on them in the Private Pleasures Booth more than once while she was showing me the ropes in my first few Booth shifts.

I thought back to those occasions when we'd simulated sex while a customer stared slack-jawed at us through the glass of the Private Pleasures Booth. Neither of us had actually come, and everything we'd done had been staged for his enjoyment. It had all been done with a sense of sneaky corroboration: we were tricking him into believing we were pleasuring each other so he would push money at us through the little slot in the glass.

But as my eyes raked over her this time, I felt a different kind of sneaky feeling. It was personal; Callie was a beautiful girl with a body that appealed to me.

Without the neon-pink glow of the Jez lights to color my perspective, I realized that my body responded to her differently. We were accustomed to having each breast and butt cheek and labia scrutinized, but I liked how her parts flowed together in complete form. I liked the way she moved, with strong, almost masculine energy. She was a handsome woman. I liked that very much.

And I especially liked how it so contrasted Faye's body and movements, where everything was tentative and feminine. Callie, while feminine in form, held a power to her that was strong without being apologetic.

I contemplated what would happen if Callie and I had sex right there on the couch. How would it be without an audience, without a paycheck to work toward as we worked each other over? How would it be to actually focus on each other's pleasure rather than the staging and drama of our exchange? I hadn't done that with anyone for a long time.

I took a deep breath, contemplating how to best proposition Callie. Did I just ask her if her offer was still on the table? Assure her she was attractive? Lean in and kiss her? I held there, uncertain as I watched her pour her drink and take a sip, swallowing and letting out a satisfied gasp.

Then she turned to me, and before I could speak, she said, "I'm trying this new thing were I don't mix sex with things that make me feel good on their own."

"Oh?" I said, curious where she was going with this.

"Yeah," she said. "Sex addicts anonymous."

"Good for you," I said, realizing immediately that I should definitely
not
proposition Callie after she made that confession. It couldn't have been easy for her to seek out support, especially while working in the sex industry.

"It's been good so far," Callie said, bobbing her head as she stared at the carpet and took another sip. "I started going with this girl I'm seeing."

"Oh yeah?" I said. Now I was confused, because I didn't know Callie was dating someone. She'd just propositioned me a few days earlier, hadn't she? How long had she been dating this girl?

"Yeah," Callie said. "Her trigger is porn. Mine is casual sex."

I nodded, not entirely sure what Callie meant and suddenly embarrassed by my assumption that she would be fair game if I wanted to have sex with her.

"It's good you're getting support," I said, smiling politely and keeping my hands close to my body.

"Yeah… Kinda weird at work though. Like, sometimes I think about when you and I would double-team the Private Pleasures Booth, and I get sad that I can't do that anymore."

There was a pause and I felt tension creeping in from every corner of the room. Here was a girl I'd had public sex with on multiple occasions, who I'd entertained the idea of having sex for pleasure with only moments before, and she was talking about her sex addiction and how she missed pretending to have sex with me.

What was sex to us? Was it a means of survival? Income? Coping? How had it become this elusive, malleable thing that was disguised and distorted? Was it just what two bodies did?

I became increasingly uncomfortable with the direction my questions were going, so I changed the subject.

"Do you think you'll stay at Jez much longer?" I asked. I couldn't imagine working in the sex industry if I was a sex addict. It would be like an alcoholic working in a bar.

"I don't know," she said. "It's not like I have a background in brain surgery to fall back on." She gave me a sad smile and I felt self-conscious about my education.

"It's not brain surgery," I mumbled. "It's just a bunch of stuff about cells, like you learn in high school biology."

"Whatever," Callie said. "I'm just not good at other things."

For the first time, I considered what it might feel like to genuinely believe I wasn't good at anything besides sex work. It would be devastating if I didn't know that I was smart and capable of many other things besides taking off my clothes. I felt unbearably sad for Callie.

"What else have you tried?"

Callie sighed, propping her head against the back of the sofa with her fist. "When I was younger, I wanted to be an actress. But now I'm getting too old…"

"You are not getting
old
," I said. "Your tits are still eighteen."

Callie gave me a fatigued smile. "Thank you…" It was quiet for a moment as she looked mournfully around the apartment for a moment before her eyes fell on Justine's closed door. "I didn't mean to cross any lines earlier," she said quietly, pointing.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't want her to know about that girl you're hung up on."

"Oh, yeah. She knows her, so I don't want anything getting weird."

"Knows the chick you like?" Callie asked.

"She's not a
chick
," I said, sounding oddly defensive.

"Sorry," Callie said, holding up her hands in an exaggerated apology. "
Woman
."

I was surprised at Callie's casual mockery of the feminist tenets that Justine and I stood on, but I didn't think tonight was a good time to defend them.

"Justine works with the girl's boyfriend. They, um, just got engaged actually."

"Oh.
Oh
," Callie said, eyes opening in realization. "Side dish thing, I get it."

Offended by Callie's assumption that I had to be sleeping with someone to like them, I took a deep breath to calm myself. "Faye and I weren't hooking up."

"Faye..." Callie said, chewing the name over a few times.

I didn't like the way Callie said Faye's name, as though she were something delicious for her to consume.

"Isn't she that girl you brought into the dressing room that one time?" Callie asked.

"No," I lied.

"Do you think they'd be into an open marriage?" Callie asked.

"Definitely not," I said, scoffing at the idea of Faye and Isaiah having anything other than a traditional marriage. "They're, like, hetero vanilla traditional."

Callie wrinkled her nose as though that were something putrid. "Ew," she said.

I tried to shrug it off. I didn't think what Faye and Isaiah had was gross at all. The sweetness and simplicity of it was something I wanted. "It works for them and they're happy together. That's all that matters."

"I suppose," Callie said. "It takes all kinds."

I nodded, wondering where I could steer the conversation so I wouldn't feel like Callie was butting into all my business with her subtle chaos and her blasé attitude about sex and relationships. Being around her was starting to make me uncomfortable. It felt like I usually felt after a few hours in the Box, when I was sweaty and tired and the air was unbearably humid and we'd heard every song on the playlist four times. There was nothing pleasant left, save for figuring out a new spin or doing a cool trick that made a customer happy.

"Hey, I'm kind of getting a headache," I lied. "But thanks for bringing the bourbon over."

There was a melancholic pause before Callie looked around and said, "Yeah, I should probably get home… Krista likes to talk before we go to bed on the nights we don't sleep over."

"Okay," I said, getting up with her.

As I did, I realized that I had been drinking alone with a woman who was in a relationship. Callie and I knew we were physically attracted to each other. We were in private, drinking, and talking about sex. To most people in the world, that wouldn't have been okay, since she was in a relationship. Most partners would be uneasy knowing about the situation we were in. Yet it hadn't crossed my mind. I thought I'd gotten so good at having boundaries with people, and yet here I was, on the verge of threatening yet another relationship. Who was I becoming?

I was glad she was leaving so I didn't have to wonder.

I offered to let her take the bourbon with her, but she waved it off. "I've got plenty more where that came from."

And even though Callie looked genuinely sad as she put on her coat and picked up her purse, I was relieved when she shut the door. Even if there was a pang of sympathy for her, I couldn't risk being dragged into her mess. For the time being, Callie and I needed to not be around each other. At least until I figured out what was okay and what wasn't.

I let myself sink into the unhappiness I felt. There was a rift of some sort, a tectonic shift inside me that didn't feel good. Who was I anymore? What did sex mean to me? Was my job changing who I was?

As if on cue, as soon as the door shut behind Callie, Justine came out of her room. She went into the kitchen, but not without shooting me a disapproving look.