To Be a Lesbian Page 6

  We haven't been alone for a minute when he zipped his pants down and showed me his junk. "I thought it was going to be decent," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Put that thing away. It's disgusting." I focused on the distance. What was it with me and pervy men? I've been attracting the wrong people. What's bothersome was it didn't even surprise me anymore. I held up a palm when Jack took a step towards me. "Look, buddy. I don't want to hurt you."

  He cracked his knuckles to hide his surprise. "Where'd you get the guts to speak to me like that?" he asked. "You think you're so tough, don't you?"

  A slight movement at the corner caught my eye. For what seemed like the tenth time today, I was back to feeling that someone was watching. "Can you please lower your voice?" I said.

  "A woman like you shouldn't feel so important about herself," he yammered on. I wasn't listening to him. I was concentrated more on the light footsteps of a third party. Someone else was there with us. I could sense it. The footsteps receded. "Don't think you can turn me on and slip. . . Hey!" My feet pounded on the ground as I ran after the sound, ignoring Jack's outcry.

  Who was it? Why was she in the alley? Would I spot her?

  I abandoned the search a couple of blocks from the club. What did I expect to find, the mysterious woman? Screw that. I took the recorder nestled in my pocket and pushed a button. "This is the first time in my life that I've come across a dead end," I said. "Previously when I wanted something, I could always get it through sheer determination and hard work. Now, even when I did thorough research and looked for clues, I couldn't get the answers. And what did I get? Exhibitionists and stalkers, that's what."

  I was about to throw the recorder in frustration when a soft tinkle sounded, followed by the smell of caffeine. Slowly, I brought my hand down and raised my head. In front of me was the cafe; lights on, alive, not a figment of my imagination. My lips curled into a smile. Well, well, it looks like I was back in business.

  Chapter 7

  Light flooded from across the street, beckoning me from the darkness. I pinched my arms twice to see if the vodka I've drank from the club was playing tricks on me. Sometimes Casper would get hallucinations from being drunk. I've never gone through it myself, but from his stories alone, it sounded like shite. "Will you look at that, Scottie," I murmured. "Lady luck is still on our side." I tucked the recorder in my pocket and crossed the street.

  What should you do when you're overly excited? Should you dance and prance around while waving your arms? Should you scream? Dearest readers, I too had my moments of silliness. While no one was looking, I jumped and clicked my heels together in the air like a leprechaun. Now for the gold.

  No sooner have I reached the door of the cafe when it was pushed from the other side. Girls after girls streamed past me as if they were water, and I, a lonely stone in the river. I managed to stop one of them from crossing the street. "Where are you going? I just got here," I said. They weren't wearing flower crowns tonight, but neon wrist bands of rainbow colors.

  The girl I've cornered looked annoyed for a second before she focused on my face. Yes, yes, I was pretty. Answer my question. "The party got cut short. Our hostess is not feeling well. Must be the old age," she explained. "I have work tomorrow, and my girlfriend can be unbelievably jealous, so. . ." So she wanted me to get out of her face. I could take a hint. She maneuvered so I wasn't in her way anymore. "See you in our next meeting."

  "Don't you mean see you tonight?" I asked.

  "You're new, huh? We don't meet every day. It's more of a see you when I see you event. You have to be present when the hostess announces when the next party will be, like an invite only, except almost everyone is welcome. It keeps the haters from turning up." She tugged at her wrist band worriedly. Whoever she was in a relationship with must be terribly insecure.

  "Do you mind if I ask you when it will be held again?"

  "The day after tomorrow at midnight," she said. "The hostess is serving coffee on the house as an apology. See yah."

  It wasn't exactly a bump on the road. It was just a pause, an extended time to gather my ideas. I needed to contain my excitement until the next party.

  Back in the house, Lulu was on the sofa, eating a tub of ice cream. I expected her hook up with the guy she was talking to on the bar, not watching chainsaw massacre movies alone. She snuggled to me when I sank on the couch. "Anyone who doesn't know you would think you're watching drama with the way you're crying," I said. She was a mess. Curly hair was stuck near her wet eyes, and her mascara had spread out to give her a raccoon face.

  "He wasn't Casper," she said, answering my unspoken question. "I couldn't bear to look at him."

  I wiped her tears with the back of my hand. "You didn't drop a kettlebell on his foot did you? We're going to get sued by a lot of guys if you keep doing that." She smiled faintly. "How about some good news to perk you up? I stumbled on the open cafe again. And you know what's even better? Someone from there told me about their system." Lulu scraped the last bit of ice cream from the container quietly, digesting my small information. The screams from the television filled the void of our silence. The killer was seen walking on the kitchen, dragging the remains of the guy he slashed to death.

  "It was stupid of me to assume that I could get over Casper easily," Lulu murmured. "It's too soon." She dumped the spoon in the empty cup and looked at me with fire in her eyes that weren't there a second ago. "I'll be strong. Are you with me or against me?" I squeezed her leg. She'd been there for me countless of times. It was my turn to be the sane one for her. Nope, I wasn't crossing my fingers behind my back. Not at all. "Promise me that you'll do great on your project too. Forget the person you chased in the restaurant. I want to see your research realized."

  "You don't have to say it twice," I affirmed.

  The waking hours of the next day were spent with menial tasks, like waiting for the people from charity to take our stuff away. We also ordered things online as replacement for the clothes we lost. Couture would have to wait. I wasn't with my parents in California anymore. I was supposed to be blending in and working on my goals as Lulu had so blatantly reminded.

  Finally, the day I've been waiting for arrived. Twirling the keychain on my fingers, I checked if the small recorder was in my pocket. Couldn't afford to leave it behind on the first day of observation and interview.

  Lulu was skipping ropes on the living room, clad in her sweatpants, tank top, and training shoes. She declared this morning that she'd start working out again. I was afraid that she'd bite my head off if I asked if this was Casper-related, so I let her be. She hasn't mentioned him today once. "I thought you're going to the cafe," she said, following me with her eyes without leaving her spot. The whoosh of the rope she was spinning made me want to work out too. We've always been active girls.

  "I am. I need to get there early to observe from the car."

  "Oh?"

  "That's how you study, Lu. You don't leave anything behind, even the things you think are inconsequential. I'm sorry if I can't take you with me. It's best if I do the early stages of the data gathering alone." That and I wanted her to get a good night's sleep. A broken heart with a broken sleeping pattern was a recipe for disaster. Though admittedly, I haven't been heartbroken before to call myself an expert, and I probably wouldn't.

  Lulu breathed through her nose and exhaled slowly with her mouth as she completed the last set of skips. "Give me a ring if you need anything," she said.

  I got to the cafe at nine o'clock sharp. The barista with the goatee was still behind the counter, taking orders from the last few customers for their shift. All of this I saw from the car, parked across the street. It was a little after ten when the crew closed the lights, locked the door, and said goodbye to each other. I called Casper to pass the time. He picked up after two rings.

  "You miss me?" he panted. Sneakers slapped on pavement in the background. He was out for an evening run. It was scary how in synch he was to Lulu, but at the same time they didn't understand each o
ther as they should. Was that possible?

  "Me, missing someone?" I breezed. "You wish." The cafe was still dark outside. I wonder when they'll come, or if anyone was coming at all. The girl I talked to could have been pulling my leg. I should have realized that sooner.

  "Why did you call?" he asked.

  "Easy. I want you to dump Jessie, move here, and get another life," I said. "The house is big enough for the three of us. Okay, it's not that glam. It's like the help's quarters back home, but you can rent an apartment unit near us. It will be fun."

  "It hasn't been a month and you're already homesick." Geez, where did he get that idea? "Besides, I can't dump Jessie," he said. "I love her."

  I stared at my phone momentarily before pressing it on my ears again. "Love?" I wanted to shout the word at him. What did he know about love? Lulu was in love. He wasn't. "You haven't been together that long with Jessie. She'll get over it. It's not like you're special, Caspie. Someone will replace you after two, maybe three months if she's not interested with your inheritance."

  He snorted. "I should record this so you'll hear the things that come from your mouth. It's not that simple. Jessie is the one." Years of reverse psychology on my brother has made him immune to my sometimes sadistic ways. I could call him awful names but he still wouldn't believe that I was insulting him. "How's Lulu?" he said. You broke her heart.

  "She got a hot date from the club. Really handsome dude." That she left in a ditch somewhere, I meant to add.

  The sound of running was succeeded by heavy breathing. He paused to rest. "Getting a date from the club is not safe," he said. "Guys you'll meet there are only interested in one thing. Jesus, Scotland, aren't you and Lulu thinking? You were always ahead of people. How can something so simple be confounding? I shouldn't be explaining this."

  I decided against contradicting him. Casper was in his outburst state. He'd progress into full blown nagging which I was in no mood for tonight when I was so close to beginning my research. "Lulu knows what she's doing," I said. "If you want, you can call her to give a lecture. It's better coming from you."

  "I'll do that tomorrow," he said. "Jessie needs me." He hung up without saying goodbye. What was it with Casper and his tomorrows when it came to Lulu?

  I wasn't given more time to ponder on it. The cafe's lights flickered on again, and with it I caught sight of the old woman. Despite her age and her stooped state, she didn't look sickly to me. She moved with the efficacy and speed of a middle-aged lady, dragging the chairs and tables to her preferred position. How convenient.

  It wasn't until midnight when the guests started to arrive. At first it was just one or two, but then they came in batches of three to five. I took the recorder out. "Research subjects are in the vicinity," I said. "From what I noticed, most of them are friends or at least acquaintances. Though the tables were scattered, they'd nod to the people in the other tables as acknowledgement. I'm going in. Wish me luck."

  There was a hint of recognition in the old woman's eyes as I traveled the distance between the cafe door and the counter to her. Two other lady's were brewing coffee and doing their jobs, while she simply stood there, hand on the surface, yellow apron on, ready for me. "Every coffee served tonight is on the house," she said.

  "Yeah, I've heard," I said. "A bird also told me that you're the hostess of this party. I thought this was a normal coffee shop when I came here. I was mistaken. Can you enlighten me about that?"

  She shook her head. "There's nothing to know. We cater to a different client."

  I put an elbow on the counter. "Why the secrecy though? Why open at midnight, granny? You don't mind if I call you that, do you? I've been waiting for days. I've been trying to come back since that night since you conveniently left me the important details."

  Granny was a lot like the monk who trained me in Cambodia, I realized in the last two minutes I've gazed at her. She had a silent calm about her. But underneath the facade, she could probably turn into a dangerous foe when ticked, like a cute cat that hasn't revealed her claw. "I'm doing a research about lesbians," I revealed when she didn't answer. "My goal is to help society see them in the perfect light. If not, then it might be useful for self-actualization. I want your cafe to be my research pool."

  The edge of her eyes crinkled. "That's been done before," she said. "What makes you think yours will be different? What are your credentials?" I sensed the mother bear coming out of her. There was a need to protect the people here, but alas, there was also curiosity in the way she asked.

  "I don't need credentials to start a research or a book, only the hunger for it," I said. "And mine won't be boring. There will be figures and facts, yes, but the way it will be told is an adventure. It will be something that people would want to read in their spare time, not breeze past in the dustiest, corner most part of the library. The part that doesn't see the light. The part that readers never touch. While I will also conduct interviews on the opposing part of the spectrum, or those who identify themselves as homophobes, I will stay as neutral as possible. My only wish is for you to let me do as I want here without getting on my business."

  "What if I don't agree?" she said.

  I shrugged. "I'll move on. But you would have lost an opportunity to give the people here a chance to speak for their kind." Come on granny, just say yes. I haven't asked my parents for help once in the past weeks. I'd be devastated to go back to my old ways. I knew I've won when she sighed. "Yes!" I said triumphantly, attracting a few stares our way. "Thank you granny. You won't regret this decision."

  She left my side to attend to a staff who called her for help. I took the chance to look around while she was busy. Where should I even begin? There were so many things to learn. After a moment, granny came back with a cup of coffee for me. I reached for my wallet. "On the house," she reminded. "How can I assist you with your research, if you don't mind me asking."

  I sipped on the cup. I could never get tired of her coffee. It was still that perfect brew. I licked my still warm lips. "You don't have to introduce me to them. I can do that myself," I said. "What I'd like to know is the grouping system here." I gestured to a table in the middle. "For example, that table seems to attract diversity. Women with different hair length, attitude, and styles of clothing are concentrated there. However," I pointed to the table on the far left, "some tables are exclusively for a specific group. How do I know? Everyone sitting there either have men's hairstyles or are wearing outfits that can be classified as 'for boys only' by society's standards. The opposite could be said for other tables. How come?"

  "Great observation skills," she said. "I never would have pegged you as the smarty type with that pretty face, especially after you came here the first time looking drunk." I didn't correct her. She'd know me better soon enough, and all those misconceptions would vanish. "A question for you, dear, before I answer. How do you define lesbians in your dictionary?"

  "A woman who is sexually or romantically attracted to other women," I said.

  Granny nodded. "While there's that, it will also benefit you to know that lesbians are often classified into types, sometimes by society, other times by themselves. It's bad to label people, but for the sake of research, you should go deeper into that too. Only after you've done your observations can you ask me. Or better yet, talk to the others."

  "Can't you give me a short view on what the stereotypes are called?" I said. Granny shook her head. "Oh come on! Just this once. It's not like I'm only doing this for myself. Think of the society. The children, granny, the children."

  "You're a persistent un," she said. Granny directed me to a group on a table. "We have the butch." She pointed to the next table. "The femmes, the tourist, and the futch. Keep in mind that these are stereotypes and the only reason why I'm telling you this is so you can debunk them later. No matter what clothes they wear, they're all women who loves women. Humans who just wants to be loved."

  "Copy that," I murmured, a sense of respect growing for the old woman. "Err, granny,
how about her?" I motioned to the table I sat in, the first time I came to the cafe. It was occupied today by a person with tumbles of wavy hair draped on the back of the chair. She was facing the opposite direction, so I couldn't see her face.

  Granny's smile was vague. "That's Lynx. Drink your coffee. It tastes best warm."

  She told me that the next meeting would be on Monday, four days after. She'd been suffering from bouts of colds the few days, so she couldn't open the cafe at midnight as much as she wanted to. I also decided to call the place, 'Midnight Cafe,' after its hours of opening. When asked again about the secrecy by which she operates the coffee shop, Granny's answer was a short, "For convenience."

  It wasn't until I glanced at the glass panes hours later, did I notice that it was raining hard, almost zero visibility on the street. I was among the last ones to stand under the roof of the shop outside, shivering, pondering how to get to my car without being completely drenched. I could not afford to be sick at this time.

  Soon, I was followed outside by a woman who was inches taller. I did a double take at the side of her face. It was half-hidden by the darkness, half-revealed by the dim streetlight to our right. She had a tumble of wavy hair that was golden auburn in color. They had a specific term for that, if I wasn't mistaken. In the 19th century they called it 'Titian,' and was often used in paintings.

  What made me kept staring was how well she could resemble those works of arts, but whereas others were completed, she looked as if the person who painted her couldn't make a strong decision on how she should end up. Her eyes, from what I could see, were neither blue nor green. The painter could have liked both colors and said, "Oh well, let's blend them together and make her eyes." She was neither smiling nor pouting, but she wasn't Mona Lisa either.

  I had the slightest chill when the woman fixed her gaze on me, a cold that had nothing to do with the rain or the time, a delicious, electrifying sensation. After that, she opened a black umbrella, and to my surprise, handed it to me. "Don't get wet," she said in an unmistakably familiar voice, then ran to the rain.