BY ZOE AMOS
In this entertainment desert we call North County, I’m grateful for Woody’s, a straight bar with a name better suited for a guy’s hang-out. Every so often it’s L-Night, and the music cranks up around nine p.m. I arrived then, not wanting to wait too long to hit the dance floor. Some friends waved me to their table and I hung out while they finished their dinners. I acknowledged familiar faces across the room, a good beginning.
Fifteen minutes passed before I spotted Lynn at another table playing kissy-face with some new babe. I wasn’t expecting to see her. Lynn called me about three weeks prior, saying we should get together for coffee. She stumbled when telling me she wasn’t seeing her ex anymore, adding an element of doubt. We didn’t get together.
Lynn and the new babe had coordinated outfits–Lynn with black pants and a white top, her companion with white pants and a black top–a sure sign this wasn’t their first date. It struck me how some lesbians I know don’t understand the femme/femme attraction. Looking at those two would have cleared that up.
I crossed the bar and put my arms around Lynn from behind. “Hey, you.” She was happy to see me.
“I’m Stephanie,” Lynn’s new friend said. “What’s your name?”
“We’ve known each other a long time,” Lynn explained to her date. “And I’ve known her about two minutes!”
“Actually, we met last summer,” Stephanie said. “It took us months to put it together.” Stephanie leaned in toward Lynn and I felt shut out.
“Well, there’s no room for me here. Nice meeting you.”
Lynn laughed. “I’ll call you.”
I walked away and Lynn kissed her. It could have been me.
Every time Lynn has a breakup, I hear from her. Then, we meet for coffee. It’s not unusual for us to dish at length about our past loves, or hers anyway. I haven’t had one in a long while.
Last summer, Lynn was vulnerable after a particularly bad breakup with the aforementioned ex. She had a lot to get out and I let her cry on my shoulder. Later, we talked about one of my erotic stories and we teased one another about hooking up. I thought we were pretending. The next time I saw her, I realized she was hurt I hadn’t taken her seriously. By then she was toying with the idea of getting back with her ex (again). I know better than to get involved with Lynn. Her relationships last a semester’s length and then, with lesson learned, or not, she moves on to her next subject.
In the bar, the techno thumped. My shoulders moved to the beat and I scanned the room looking for a potential dance partner. I caught sight of Lynn grabbing a fold of material near Stephanie’s crotch—a gesture not meant to be seen by others. They leaned together and their breasts touched as they kissed.
I danced with singles, other couples, and by myself. Around eleven, I went outside to get some air. A woman I previously had my eye on was kissing another woman in a nearby stairwell. Not wanting to intrude on their moment, I went back in the bar, took one last look around and decided to leave. On my way out I stopped at Lynn’s table.
“I’m in serious trouble,” she said in my ear as we hugged good-bye.
I expect I’ll hear about this one when it’s over. I had my chance and passed, knowing it wouldn’t last. If it had been me, who would she tell when it ends? Not me.
Zoe Amos brings her lesbian point of view to articles and stories on diverse topics. Connect with her on Facebook and Twitter. Read her stories on Kindle and Nook. Check out her other life at: www.janetfwilliams.com