Moving Along- Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of "Exit, Stage Left"

You can't be involved in theatre for as long as I have and not write a play. It's inevitable. I wrote my play about 2 years ago. It was after I had directed a summer community theatre production of "Camelot" and thought there would be nothing more challenging than that. Little did I know, sitting down with a laptop and an idea was right up there. My play is called "What Would Cagney Do?" It's loosely based on my teen years, right through my coming out, but not really autobiographical because I don't hear Sharon Gless in my head, nor do I present that question to myself when I get stuck in a jam. But the main character does because she's idolised Sharon Gless since the "Cagney & Lacey" days of the 80's. That part was all me. So, the plot line is simply a young woman coming to grips with her sexuality, but sorting things out by talking to a "Cagney & Lacey" picture when things get rough. Heart felt hilarity, I tell ya. The only problem with it is that I never have the time to really tweak it and make it presentable.  It sits in a binder on the shelf in my office at home, covered in dust. I really do love the play, but daily life gets in the way of me doing anything with it. 

"You should show it to Roni Haven!" Liz exclaims, over dinner, as we have our third date. 

I laugh a bit. "Veronica Haven, the producer? Oh, I don't think so." Liz sets her fork down, and touches my hand. "I'm serious. I know her. I can set it up for you." I smile politely. "It's not ready, honestly. It needs a lot of tweaking and stuff. Maybe someday, though."

"Well, it sounds retro adorable! I can see people attaching themselves to it, too. The 80's never die. Retro never dies, It just recycles itself year after year," she says with a nod. 

Our first two dates were as perfect as this one. We've learned that we both like a quiet, relaxed atmosphere, good food, Fleetwood Mac, cats, strong coffee, snow, fuzzy socks and mojitos.

Not the basis for anything just yet, but off to a good start nonetheless. Liz is extremely comfortable talking about her past. She seems to know her way around dating, too.  She dresses perfectly, like she didn't struggle at all in front of her closet and mirror with what looks good or what's appropriate. There wasn't a nervous bone in her body to the best of my knowledge. It was almost as if she had forgotten that I've seen her vomit and cry. Then again, after a first impression like that, what's left, really?

Our first date was a wander through the City Centre, during a street fair. We browsed, nibbled on different food samples and chatted, keeping things light, discussing the area, some books and hobbies. On the second date, Liz and I went to a Shakespeare in the Park festival that was going on near Castleton and laughed all evening at the dodgy actors and scenery. 

Tonight, we played it spontaneous, meeting at a wine bar for a drink and then deciding on dinner at a little Italian place nearby. It was small, and comfortable and it felt like we were finally in a place where we could sit closer and talk in more detail. 

Liz grew up in Chicago and has one older sister who still lives there, near her father. Her mother passed away 8 years ago. She told me that she was a wild, fearless teenager who was always interested in fashion, make-up, shoes and boys. When she finished high school, she and two of her friends went to Miami on a whim, and a year later she ended up with a job as an assistant production designer with Gianni Versace. "A total fluke" was how she describes it. The next five years, she spent learning, traveling, partying, and making big money. It sounded like a cool job. Getting to preview the clothing line, selecting the music, staging the lights, and helping to design the runway. 

"To be twenty years old, in the fashion world, wandering through the streets of Paris, Milan, London and New York....it was absolutely magical. In my mind, it was the equivalent to being a roadie for The Stones, or something. I just wish I would have recognised the opportunity I had been given. Instead, I lived in the moment, fully immersed in the glamour, the lifestyle. Never planned for the future, never knew where I was going next." She looks down at her risotto, and pokes around in it with her fork. I study her face. Her momentary reflection of that period in time seemed to be filled with the conflict of good times and genuine regret over some mistakes along the way. "But it was fun. Everyone was so extreme and intense," she grins a bit, "...and everyone was bi sexual if not totally gay. So, that's pretty much how I figured my sexuality out. I'm probably the only person to ever say to myself 'It's just a phase, you're not really a lesbian', and be completely wrong!" We both laugh at that.  

"What happened? How did it end?" I ask. 

"Just before my twenty fifth birthday, I was in New York City. I hadn't been back to Chicago in over five years. You know how it is when you're young, you're just selfish and totally absorbed in your own life. I mean, I would call home every other day and talk to my Mom and Dad, even if it was just for a minute or two. I knew for about a year that my favourite Aunt was ill. When I was young, every summer from as early as I can remember, we would go to Ellicottville, to my Aunt Jan's house for a few weeks. She and Uncle Jimmy had this amazing house. It was a fully functional log cabin surrounded by the most picturesque woodlands you've ever seen. It even had a lake with kayaks, canoes and a little dock. I loved going there as a kid. Even as a teenager, when all my friends would be looking forward to hanging together over the summer, I was all about getting out of Chicago, and going to visit Aunt Jan in Ellicottville. I'd pack my books, my bathing suit, my converse sneakers and I'd be off! I loved it. I would tell all my friends that I was going to New York for the summer. It wasn't a lie. I was in New York. Just up here. In upstate."  

Ellicottville is just north of Allegheny State Park in upstate New York. In fact, White Hill and Rockway City are right between Ellicottville and Allegheny. I went there once on ski trip to Holiday Valley with my friend's family when I was 15. All I really remember is bruising my tailbone when we went tubing and my friend's Mom saying the word "coccyx" a lot, which made us giggle constantly.

"So, the day before my birthday, I got a call from my Mom to tell me that Aunt Jan had died. I was expecting it, I guess. But, it really sobered me up. I explained to my boss that I had a family emergency, and I left to go be with my parents and Uncle Jim, and I..." her voice trails off for a second, "never went back."

"Oh. Wow." 

"I did a complete 360. I don't know what came over me. I had this urge to be back home. I kind of felt like I could take care of everyone. As if they even needed me! I gave my Uncle Jim thousands of dollars to pay off what was left on the cabin. I bought my parents an SUV before SUV's were cool. I don't know if it was my guilt from being away so long, or if I was just being a big shot. You know, hometown girl lives the Glam Life, comes back to humble beginnings. Anyhow, I settled down, got a job in a high end hair salon, got myself a condo on Lake Shore, and lived this power dyke perfect life. I had a girlfriend who was a mover & shaker attorney, we had two cats and a dog, we attended every LGBT fundraiser and sat on the board of all kinds of organisations and committees. From the outside, it looked like this fabulous life, but I got too wrapped up in how we 'presented', I think. If we had the smallest of arguments, I would panic and worry about what everyone would think if we broke up. All she was worried about was making partner at the firm. I was so supportive of her that I lost myself. I wasn't happy but I wouldn't dare let anyone know. So stupid, right? "

"Well, no, not really. I'm sure everyone can admit to staying in a less than satisfying relationship longer than they should have for whatever reasons," I offer.

"Have you done that, too?"

Ooo. Tricky. How do I say, in the smoothest of ways, that I haven't ever been in anything remotely substantial aside from my heterosexual marriage which only lasted three years?

"Sure."

"Whew," she laughs. The waiter comes and clears away our plates, then takes our order for lattes and a piece of cheesecake to share.

"I guess the perfect escape came when Uncle Jim died three years ago," she explains. I feel my eyebrows jump a bit. "Oh, God, that sounds terrible!" 

I smile slowly, already knowing her well enough to know that's not what she meant. 

"Uncle Jimmy left me his cabin when he passed away. So, I took that as a sign, untangled myself from my unhappy relationship with Laura the lawyer, packed up and moved to the cabin. After one year of peace and solitude, I felt too isolated, so now I rent it out to vacationers. While I was up there, I did some research with a realtor, and a business manager, and we found a small space in Castleton, where I decided to open my day spa. And, ta da...that's my story of how I ended up here."

Like any typical lesbian, I was on the verge of asking, "So, do you hear from Laura the lawyer still?" but I went a different route, and chose to say what I was feeling, not thinking, for a change.

"Well, I'm glad you decided on being here." 

She flashes that million dollar smile. The waiter delivers our dessert and lattes. Once he leaves, Liz dips a well-maincured finger into the dollop of whipped cream on our cheesecake slice and holds it up, in a deliberately goofy, awkward way, as if for me to lick it. I fake a cheesy seductive look, with an eyebrow wiggle and we both laugh, as she licks it off herself.  The second our laughter fades off, we both stare at each other. I find myself wishing I had licked her finger. I can feel her eyes taking in my face. Something about candle light, wine, and a red & white checkered tablecloth, it really does create a romantic moment.

I've taken things slow, by my own standard, on the last two dates. We kissed on the lips, after the first date, followed by a warm hug and that lingering hand-holding thing where you don't really want to let go. Totally queer but appropriate. After the second date night, we ended with a deeper kiss that included tongues, and we pressed together much tighter against my car. We were only a few minutes from that heavy breathing, grinding stage when we slowed it down and bashfully said goodnight.

It seemed like a completely acceptable pace for grown ups, although I wasn't totally used to it. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't going to get laid and that wasn't a bad thing. The object was to get to know each other. I mean, I had it in my head that I had to stop acting like a teenage boy when I was out on a date, thinking about getting some p***y before the end of the night. It seemed like the minute I made that decision, I didn't really have any dates for a while. Liz said she had joined a lesbian dating site a few months ago, but was thoroughly disappointed in the last few dates it spawned.  I felt confident that not only did we enjoy one another's company, there was a sizzling, mutual attraction. 

The thing is, I have completely lost faith in my ability to read whether or not to move forward, make a move, or just hold up at first base. The reason for this happened on date night number two when Liz told me that she was 50 years old. I was about 10 years off with my estimate and it threw me for a loop. I didn't feel a 16 year gap between us at all. She doesn't look 50 at all. I haven't been with an older woman before but from what I can tell, it's going to be good, if the kissing is any indication. I just wasn't sure how to tell if we were on the same page as far as sex goes. At this moment, while we're lost in one another's eyes, the warm glow of the candle light, our feet slightly making contact under the table, all I can think about it kissing her lips, and running my hands along her soft silky skin....

"Check, please" Liz says, without taking her eyes off me, just as the waiter passes by.

Oh. I think we ARE on the same page. 

 

Author's Note

Work in progress...