My face heated, and I wished I’d managed to get that drink. “I was only trying to help. I told her from the start I’d charge her eventually.”
Farrah gave an encouraging nod. “Yes, I think this would be a good time to start.”
“And what is this bullshit about waiting for her to text you?” Sven barreled on. “She needs to tell you in advance if she wants you, not text you at the last minute. This is basic workers’ rights, my friend.”
With no beer to fall back on, I coughed a few times instead. “She’s never texted me at the last minute,” I said. “Not so far. But she might!”
Andrew looked at me quizzically. “So what, you want her to ask you to work for free on a Friday night?”
“Well, no… but is it so bad if I want to hear from her?”
The three of them went silent, and I knew I’d said too much. They looked at one another as if wordlessly electing a spokesperson. Please let it be Farrah.
It was Farrah. “You’re saying you like her?” she asked, peering closely at me. “Like her, like her?”
I barely inclined my head, but apparently that was enough for the three of them to start shouting. I pulled back, unwilling to hear what they were saying.
Farrah shushed them with a wave of her hand. “Jaz, this doesn’t sound healthy. Not when it comes to your thesis supervisor.”
A woman ascended to the stage, a sheaf of papers in her hand.
“Let’s talk about this later,” I said. “The next poet’s coming on.”
I didn’t see how this situation was so unhealthy. And I hadn’t had time to tell them she was into women. Did that make a difference? It meant I was only a little out of my mind to think I might have a shot.
I sat back in my seat, my thoughts whirling.
The worst of it was, I still hadn’t managed to get a damn drink.
6
Faye
Some lesbians were interested in straight women. A small, strange minority even fetishized the idea.
For whatever reason, they liked fantasizing about someone they could never have. Forbidden fruit was always sweeter, wasn’t it? Or perhaps some internalized homophobia stopped them from seeking out a real, healthy relationship. If they were only into straight girls, they’d never find an actual partner.
In any case, there was little point to me psychoanalyzing those types of women. Fact was, I’d never been one of them.
When it came to romance, I looked past heterosexuals as if they weren’t even there. Why waste my time? Sure, there’d been a few schoolgirl crushes in my younger days, but I’d grown out of those as soon as I got to college and began meeting other out-and-proud women like me.
Not that I met them all that often… but I dated here and there. I’d gotten myself into that relationship with Brenda, ill-fated as it was. No, I hadn’t been on a date in the months since. The way it’d ended had soured me on relationships in general.
But as I was saying, lesbians and bisexual women were around. Absent any evidence to the contrary, I assumed any woman I met was not one of them.
There were all types of hints, if you knew what to watch for. A masculine way of dressing. An avoidance of pronouns when talking about their past. A rainbow flag pinned to a backpack.
Jaz Neeson had exhibited none of those signs, so she’d never been on my radar. I’d never seen her as anything but a student—and a flaky, maybe-not-too-smart one at that.
Now that I knew she was playing for my team, though?
All bets were off.
Which was why I didn’t call her for the entire weekend. I could’ve used the babysitting, since I still didn’t have the gift of shutting Gretchen up and the two-hour car ride to Sargasso was hell with an infant caterwauling the entire way. It even would’ve been nice to have some company when, after covering every inch of my hometown and interrogating everyone I could find, there was still no sign of Amanda.
My best lead came from the waitress at the diner where I’d stopped for lunch. She’d been in my sister’s grade in high school, and she’d heard some rumors about Amanda moving to the other end of the state. My best guess was that she was talking about Johnston, where Amanda had lived with her ex. I intended to go there next weekend and see what I could dig up.
Meanwhile, one of Amanda’s old friends had a toddler and was vehement that she was never going through that again. Against my protests that I wasn’t keeping Gretchen, she’d loaded a few boxes of baby stuff into my car. That was nice, I supposed, just thoroughly unnecessary.