I pull back the covers and am shocked to find her looking up at me from between my legs. Her green eyes twinkling up at me as if she has been waiting for me. While holding my gaze she presses her mouth deeply onto me.
I wake up with a start. “What. Was. That?” I say under my breath.
“I didn’t hear anything.” My husband says groggily from the pillow next to me.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” I whisper. “I was having a dream.”
He rolls over and reaches down to clumsily cup my genitals over my sleep shorts. “Was it a sexy dream?”
I jump out of bed and lie, “I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I just need some water.”
I head quickly to the door. “Go back to sleep, I may watch tv on the couch for a bit until my heart rate goes back to normal.”
“Mmmkay, miss you.” He says, sounding like he’s already three-quarters of the way back to sleep anyway.
***
I make myself a mug of green tea and pray that it will cure me of the discomfort that I have had since last week when I met her, the customer who withdrew her entire life savings in cash.
“Liz.” I whisper, as if someone might hear me.
Elizabeth Duboix. “Liz” she offered, after having provided her full legal name so I could pull up her account.
“You’re just weird! That’s why I can’t stop thinking about you!” I say into my dark kitchen. “Who actually does that? Gambles away their life savings... I bet you’re stranded in Vegas without a dime right now. God!!” I clap my hands over my mouth only just realizing I’m saying all of this out-loud.
"Why do I even care?" I ask myself as I grab the remote and roughly pull up Netflix and scroll to my “continue watching” row. I laugh when I see I’d last been watching “The Ultimatum: Queer Love”...
“That’s why I had that dream.” I offer as an explanation to myself. “I guess Dad was right, watching shows with gay characters in it does make you gay!” I laugh to myself, because this is a regular debate topic ever since I 'came out' as a Democratic Socialist.
I was raised in an extremely hetero-normative conservative culture. I know exactly what Republicans mean when they say “traditional family values”. My first husband has two masters degrees from a Baptist Seminary and firmly enforced our household hierarchy of God-Husband-Wife-Children. No exceptions.
I have my adult-education Sociology degree, and a decade of therapy to thank for my slightly more open minded view of relationship structures that has led to my much more loving and equitable second marriage.
I clamp my eyes shut and whisper “I love my husband. I am straight.” I say, as if they are inextricably linked facts.
“You only turn gay if you are gay!” I hear Martin’s voice echo in the back of my mind.
All of us at the bank found ourselves really bonded after the last presidential election cycle. We are lucky that we all share the same perspectives about human and civil rights hot topics. We regularly share social media posts in the break room and offer commentary on issues like the very staunch conservatives who are trying to ban books with “non-traditional family values”. “Straight people don’t have to worry...” I hear Martin saying, in my head. “You can only turn gay if you are gay!” We all laughed in vehement agreement.
I finish my now room-temp tea in two gulps, run my hands roughly over my face and through my hair. I turn off the TV, and resolve to force myself back to sleep.
"I’m losing my mind.”
***
“You’re making another pot of coffee?” Martin asks as he walks into the breakroom, startling me.
“Yeah. No sleep.” I answer with as few words as possible to conserve energy. I am exhausted and angry about it.
“You know it’s just going to make you anxious, but I’m here for it.” He jokes with a playful smile.
“No. YOU make me anxious.” I retort without a smile.
“Wait. Are we fighting for real?” He asks.
“I don’t know... No.” I say unconvincingly.
“Come to my office right now.” He says as he leaves without waiting for a response.
I drag my feet like a toddler who is being obedient, but as slowly as humanly possible. He has long since settled behind his desk by the time I take my seat in front of him. “Don’t act like you aren’t loving every minute of this.” I say to him, fighting back the first hint of tears. “Ugh!” I exclaim, as I nearly bruise my eyes, wiping away even the thought of possibly crying.
“Is this about last week?” He asks without feeling the need to include context. Which only confirms in my mind that I was as memorably awkward as I felt like I had been.
“I was wondering if I should have talked to you about that. I am so sorry about what I said. I really crossed a line. I need to stop making those kinds of jokes with people.”
Ever since we became friends, he has joked that everyone is “a little bit gay” and that some are “a lot gay”. I know that he wasn’t being serious, at least no more serious than he always is about it. He has said similar things to me a dozen times before and it never stuck with me like it did this time. I know that I shouldn’t be taking this out on Martin.
All of the anger leaves my body at once with a big sigh, and all that’s left is a very young inner voice that squeaks out from the back of my throat, “I can’t be gay.”
“I know, honey.” Martin says while reaching towards me across his desk, in a touchless hug.
I take a deep breath and stand up. “You know David. You like him.”
“I do.” He says with an understanding nod.
I head back to my station and finish the rest of my shift without speaking to anyone but the customers.
***
I set a jar of basil flower clippings from my unkempt garden on his desk with a big cheesy smile to make it clear that I am not the same person I was yesterday.
“I got a full night’s sleep! I feel sane again.” I say with a big shrug. “I am sorry I was so weird yesterday. I had woken up in the middle of the night from the craziest dream about that crazy customer from last week, and I never did get back to sleep. It just left me in a really weird mood.”
“It’s no problem, really. I crossed the line. I’m your boss.”
“You’re also my friend, and us joking around is what makes me love working here. I don’t want you to stop playing around with me just because I got weird one time.”
He stands up and gives me a hug. “I am your friend. I care about you very much.”
“I know.” After a moment I say, “So can I tell my friend about this dream I had?”
“Oh my gosh please tell me every single detail!” He says while gently clapping his hands in front of his chest while he takes his seat, seamlessly transitioning from boss to friend.
I glance at the front to make sure there are no customers in line and then plop myself into a chair. I lean my elbows onto his desk to further signify the casual nature of my story.
“So in the dream I was in bed and I ‘woke up’” I frame in finger quotes, “to a feeling that something was under the covers. So I pulled them up and there she was!”
“Wait. Crazy customer?” He asks with a chortle.
“Yes!”
“Go on!” He prompts with a tiny hand wave, as he clamps his other hand over his lips.
“Well I’m not going to go into detail, but let’s just say that she ‘kissed me’ and ‘touched me’ and it startled me awake.” I open my mouth and my eyes really wide and gesture for him to please respond.
“I bet it did! Did you like it?”
“Mar-teeeeeen!” I squeal.
“Sorry. Sorry. I meant… Did you like it?”
I throw a pen at him and cross my arms across my chest in faked anger.
“I was shocked.” I say instead. “I didn’t have time to like it or dislike it.”
“Look.” He starts, with his very signature direct way. “Your subconscious is exploring your sexuality for you! You never got to experiment, so your mind is going to do it for you.”
"I just feel like I don't even recognize myself anymore. I don't know what's happening."
“Nobody does, girl. We are all just making it up as we go along. I think we just have to be true to ourselves each day, and end up wherever we end up. For me, I just hope it’s in a fancy guesthouse in the back acre of some rich couple’s estate. I’m suited to be a well kept mistress, don’t you think?”
“You’d be the best mistress, undoubtedly.” I agree unquestioningly. “I needed this. Thank you.” I laugh restoratively while I bring my head to rest on my forearms on his desk.
I raise my head after the silence drags on for one moment too long. I can just feel that his focus has changed. I find him looking through the window into the lobby. I follow his gaze.
There she is.
We just stare until it becomes clear that she is scanning the lobby, looking for someone.
“Is she looking for me?” I squeak out at exactly the same time as Martin says, “She’s looking for you!”
***
Quickly, I stumble out into the lobby, smoothing my skirt, before she can catch us staring. “Are… are you looking for someone?”
“You!” She says as she finds my eyes with hers. “I was hoping you were here.”
“Yes I’m, I am. I am here.” I bite my lip hard, as a silent punishment for losing track of so many of my IQ points when I am in this woman’s presence.
She waves her hand, invitingly, to the conference room where we had completed our last transaction.
There she goes again, acting like she’s in charge. “Who does she think she is?” I think to myself. Since I am the first through the door I hurry to take the chair on the appropriate side of the desk.
“Ha! Yeah, sorry about that. I know I should have sat on this side.”
“No! Don’t be…” I start automatically. She waves her hands to stop me.
“Don’t do that. I was being a brat on purpose.”
“Well then…” I say. “Then I accept your apology. Thank you.”
We both laugh and relax a little bit deeper into our respective seats.
I take a deep breath and notice that the air is tangibly charged.
“So what can I do for you?” I ask formally.
“I want to tell you about Vegas. Can I take you out for coffee on Saturday?”
“I am straight!” I say, aghast.
“Whoa! Cocky. You think just because I’m a lesbian that I’m hitting on you?”
“Oh my gosh!” I say, instantly flushed from head to toe with embarrassment. “Of course you’re not. I am so sorry.”
“No, no, no. I’m fucking with you. I was absolutely asking you out.” Her face is also flushed, but from laughing at me. “I do this. I’m sorry. I like to ruffle feathers. It’s a problem.” She takes a moment to pull at her face to stop her laughter. “But listen, unlike most of the men you’ve undoubtedly turned down, I know how to stop when I’m told no. It was a pleasure meeting you… tell me your name again?”
“Sophie.” I say, mindlessly, thoughts spinning through my mind more quickly than I can process.
“Sophie, born on the 17th. Be well.” She says with a wink. And then she disappears into thin air.
I blink as the lights in the conference room turn off.
“Dammit.”
She was gone. Again.
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