Cori laughed. "You just pretend it's not there. Eventually you forget about it. Besides, there's no panty lines."
"It doesn't feel like its not there. Ugh," she groaned. "My stomach is protesting. I gotta get food."
The dancer liked the blonde. It was a warm kinda feeling. A friend. She could easily care for her. "Wanna go for breakfast or something? My treat?"
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They grabbed the bartender's coat and headed out the door. You wanna go to Christine's?" Faith offered.
"You bet. I'm starved about now. I'm glad I got money."
They both laughed this time. The sun was just rising as the strangest of friends made their way through the quiet streets.
Reece opened her eyes at exactly 9:58. It never failed. No matter what time the alarm was set for, she preceded it by mere minutes. She stretched her long body, anticipating the kinks and cramps from last night's bout with Mary Lou Retton. Damn that girl could bend! Taking a mental inventory of her body, she felt pretty good. Nodding to herself, she left the comfort of the huge, cast iron, canopy bed and headed to the kitchen. As if detached from her body, her hands readied the coffee pot while she fought to keep her eyes open. Leaving the coffee to brew, Reece started towards the downstairs bathroom only banging her shin once on the dreadful table in the living room.
"Fuck!"
It was almost expected. Walk by the couch; knock your shin. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine a use for a table so close to the ground. This is how the house came to her and she kept it that way. "One day, though, I'll get around to that fuckin' table." Standing in the shower, the tall club owner made a mental note to herself to start buying furniture for humans.
Just throw a few acrobats on that canopy bed and I can charge admission.
She brought the washcloth between her legs and was not surprised that it felt good. No matter how many times she came with these women, it was never satisfying enough. It's like a Tylenol for a toothache; it just takes the edge off. It never really goes away. She knew that one day it would be there; the all-encompassing feeling of a mind-blowing orgasm. She knew it was possible, but she was pretty sure that love had something to do with it. Actually, it was sort of the reason why she kept trying. Reece never needed love to accomplish anything, and this would be no different…she'd be the proof of that.
The aroma of coffee wafted under the door. Drawn like a moth to a flame, she wrapped her hair in a towel and walked naked towards the scent. This time she avoided the table. If she could, Reece would erect a shrine to Juan Valdez and worship the coffee bean.
Cori fell out of bed to the sounds of chaos filtering through her bedroom door. "Shit," she groaned. "Not again." Her roommates were having yet another loud argument. They were best of friends, had a brief romance, and now it was impossible to live with them. Monica left Debbie for a man and Debbie was pitiful for weeks.
This is why friends should stay friends.
She threatened to throw them out, but always relented when they promised to behave, but that never lasted. Cori played referee, devil's advocate, and Dr. Ruth until she gave up, announcing that they can kill each other for all she cares, as long as they do it quietly. And of course, not get blood on her couch. Throwing open the door and hoping to deter stained furniture, she stalked into the living room right into the path of a flying vase full of roses. The yelp of pain effectively silenced the two women.
"You know..." She picked the thorns out of her skin.
"Cor..."
"...No." She held up a hand. "Its all fun and games until someone loses an eye." The dancer got to her feet and promptly fell back down with dizziness.
"Cori, I swear, it was an accident. It just slipped. Are you okay?" Monica, the thrower, was kneeling at her side.
"God, Monica, she's bleeding! You are such an asshole! What if you killed her!" Debbie yelled.
"I didn't mean it...the vase was too heavy…. "
Cori, who was not feeling all too well, thought she might mention that she was about to pass out.
"Um, ladies, I think I might hurl...." and she did.
"Ewww!" Both Debbie and Monica voiced their disgust.
Reece had been called off the leg press machine by the receptionist.
"Are you sure it's for me? Who would call me at the gym?" she wondered.
"Hysterical woman says she's Monica and she thinks she killed Cori."
"What? Those fucking idiots! I told her to throw their asses out." Reece was at the phone in a flash.
"No... listen… Mon... but... MONICA! SHUT UP! What hospital? I'll be right over. Calm down, and stay away from Debbie ‘til I get there."
Aware that her mouth had gone dry and her heart was pounding more than it should, she realized with disdain that she was feeling fear. She actually cared about the dancer. "Christ!" she muttered, "I knew it. I let her get to me, and now I'm fucked." She flung open her locker. "Goody, I have a friend." She threw on her jacket and left.
Ugh.
Reece was very uncomfortable and had a ways to go before she reached the hospital. Rumbling towards the Battery tunnel, she was feeling the cold bite through her soaking wet sweats. She hadn't bothered changing and was just now realizing the practicality of her chaps and boots in winter, not to mention a dry shirt. "This better be the last time I have to do this," she said out loud. "Those two are out of there tonight." Out of the tunnel and freezing, she fished money out of her jacket.
"Where the hell is Methodist Hospital?" she yelled a little louder than she should have at the guy in the tollbooth.
He shrugged in response.
Welcome to fucking Brooklyn,
she thought sarcastically.
Finally, after much cursing and the occasional finger, Reece found the hospital and a parking spot.
Hmm,
she thought,
it doesn't smell like a hospital...or look like one.
Practically running through the corridor, she found the three disheveled women walking towards her. Cori looked up at the sound of squeaky sneakers.
"You called her?" She was shocked. More so that Reese actually came all the way here.
"What the fuck happened?"
Monica hid behind Debbie, who hid behind the injured party.
"Well? Talk to me!" Blue eyes were fuming.
"The FTD guy took a wrong turn and flew into me."
The tall woman crossed her arms on her chest and tapped her foot. If looks could kill, they would be administering last rites in the hallway.
Monica started to cry. "It was an accident! It slipped..."
"Well, Monica, I don't think we have to worry about that happening again." Uncrossing her arms and putting each one around the cowering women's shoulders, she led them away from the dancer. "Go sit there for a sec...."
"Boss lady, really, it's okay. We already talked about it..."
"...and they're moving tomorrow. Right? I don't need to worry about..."
"You were worried?" Cori was standing in front of the club owner. The other women took their chance and high tailed it out of there.
Reece walked over to the bench and put her helmet down. "Yeah, I was. You happy? Don't ask me why. I don't know yet myself..." She was cut off as arms grabbed her around the waist and a bloodstained bandage was under her chin.
"Why boss lady...if I didn't know better, I'd be inclined to think you cared about me," the dancer teased.
Reece threw her hands up in the air in protest.
Sensing the argument, her blue head looked up into a concerned face and said, "C'mon take me home. I'm okay. I just can't sleep tonight and I'm sure you can keep me awake." She wiggled her eyebrows, which made her head throb. She heard her new friend swallow nervously.
"Cori... I..." Reece backed away a step
"Stop, I'm just kidding. A night with you would kill me in my state." She tried to ease her friends discomfort, leaving herself wide open for the reply.
"It would kill you in Jersey, too." Reece took the bait.
"Ha ha," the dancer stated dryly. "Seriously though, I was wondering how long it would take for you to realize that you can care about someone and not have to fuck 'em. Really, Legs, I'm honored."
"I don't care about the people I fuck," she defended.
"You do now." Cori felt the body tense and silently gloated. "We can talk about my adventures in the bar last night. I met a sweet blonde you'd die for."
A dark eyebrow went up. "Yeah? Do tell." She grinned.
"Later. Let's just go, Arnold. You're killing me with your pits."
"You'll have to sit in front. I need to keep my eye on you. "
"Oh, and your arms too. Didn't you ever hear of deodorant?"
"Shut up, Freak."
"Fuck you, asshole."
Yes, this is going to be fun.
"Puke on my bike and I'll kill you."
"Can you feel the warmth? Thanks for your concern."
"Anytime."
Faith was wandering through the West Village.
This is more like it,
she thought. The streets were much cleaner and tons quieter, the homes much nicer, the people friendlier.
I could live here. No, I want to live here,
she sighed. She wondered how this could be Manhattan. It looked as if it were a small town tucked into the city. Historic looking brownstones and red bricks lined the narrow, tree lined streets.
She wandered into the quaint little shops and bars, occasionally drawn to a Help Wanted sign. Unfortunately, with her clothes from the second hand stores, and her resume only being a bar in Alphabet City, Faith would not find employment here. She started to feel helpless and out of place, then angry at herself for it.
God, get a grip girl! You wanted this!
It was nearing time to get home and start the whole getting ready for work ritual.
Work,
she snorted.
This isn't exactly how I pictured it.
Walking back towards the direction of the subway, the usually perky blonde was dragging her feet. She suddenly found herself feeling very homesick and horribly lonely. Acutely aware of where she was, and why. Tears started to fall and, try as she might; they wouldn't go away. Growing up, she was not allowed to show this kind of emotion. It wasn't proper or ladylike. Besides, it would embarrass her mother. Couldn't have that. So for the first time that she could remember Faith Ashford cried her eyes out, on the stoop of 12 Bank street, in someone else's jeans, and very alone.
The ride home was pretty much uneventful for the two women. Reece had insisted they go to her house. She had a guest room and privacy. The injured dancer feigned protest, but she really wanted to be there. It was all she thought about on the ride through the tunnel. The place was gorgeous. Some things were a bit tacky, but what do you expect from a titty club owner. It was two floors of decadence. There were two huge bathrooms, three bedrooms, a den, the kind of kitchen you see in magazines, and a living room to die for. You could rent out the hall closet as a room. It was bigger than her whole apartment.
Cori lived in Brooklyn all her life, knowing she'd never be able to live in Manhattan. Especially this area. Shit, she had to have roommates where she was now! As soon as she was able, she moved to Park Slope, using the excuse that it was closer to Manhattan, and really, it was the next best thing to being there. Truth be known, the neighborhood was nick named "Dyke Slope" and Cori just had to live there.
Turning off the West Side Highway, she got a childlike thrill of anticipation. Her nosy disposition was killing her. She heard the rumors that Reece had inherited the place from Frank as well, but the club owner made it clear that she didn't want to talk about Uncle Frankie. So Cori never got the whole story. Now she figured, with this little love fest she was feeling from the boss, it wouldn't be as hard to get her to open up as it had been. So many things the dancer wanted to know. So many blanks to fill in. She smiled, always loving a challenge.