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If anybody who knew Laura Gomes were asked to describe her… they probably couldn’t do it. Then again, if Laura Gomes were asked to describe herself, she probably couldn’t do it either.
She had to leave for her date in fifteen minutes. She’d already gotten dressed, she’d been waiting around in her date outfit like a loser for the past hour– the dark denim jeans that struggled to slide over her thighs but made her butt look fantastic, the black, tight shirt that dipped low enough to hint at what lay underneath and the black leather jacket she wore over it, and the pumps that were a little slutty, surprisingly comfy, but almost looked distinguished when kicked off on a bedroom floor. After that she’d pulled out her hair straightener, which only made her long locks look and feel even longer. If there were no strings attached, she definitely would’ve chopped it all off years ago and never looked back, she hated how much time and effort it required. But, it was a definite way to win compliments and she liked the attention; not that she really needed it, she was one of those people who commanded people’s attention by simply walking into a room. She accidentally sprayed herself in the eye with hairspray, then painted her nails a dark, sapphire shade, and finally her lips in a shade of red. The lipstick was called crimson crime, how fitting.
She shouldn’t be going on this date. She shouldn’t be going on any dates, ever, she couldn’t risk falling in love, if she was even capable of it. Elena had always told her not to, and in her heart she’d known even before the words ever left her stepmother’s mouth. Elena wasn’t always right, but this time, perhaps she was onto something. “I know you better than anybody, bambina. I know you won’t be able to seperate those big feelings of yours when you have to pull away. You can’t get attached to people doing what we do.” Then she’d grimly chuckle, take a swig of her wine (usually white). “Besides, why would you ever want to? The only time you’ll catch me with a ball and chain is when my life’s work has caught up to me and I’m behind bars, never before.”
“Don’t say that,” she would say, shaking her head and tasting the wine. She doesn’t flinch at the taste of the alcohol, not anymore. That’s a nice wine, it goes down smooth. She preferred rosé, though. Not too sweet, but not bitter either. A little bit like her.
“Men are trash, sweetie.”
Ah, yes, not a particular concern of hers. Sure, she’d had her fair share of fooling around with men, they were conveniently manipulative as long as you gave them a little show, but if it weren’t for business, she’d never choose to be with one another one ever again. Her hair was the only straight part of her, she’d accepted it a long time ago. Elena would never know, and that was okay. She was good at keeping secrets. She learned from the master after all. But then she got better than her.
Elena knew she would one day. As a six year old who cried more than was good for her, still slept with a nightlight on and in her dad’s bed whenever she could, refused to brush her hair and spoke with a lisp, you would never guess– that girl was going to go on to great things? Could she do them without crying? Most times, the answer was yes. Most times, she was great– powerful and persuasive, whip smart and gorgeous, and most times she did it all without crying, too. Her only downfall was that she had so many feelings, all in inconvenient times and places. Those would get her in trouble one day, or worse, the people she ended up loving. It’d be easier for her if she didn’t love the way she did, so freely and so easily. This line of work wasn’t meant for people like her; but Elena would never say she bet on the wrong horse.
Having dates in a bar was a liability, but she was secure enough in her sobriety to be okay with it. She liked the environment of lesbian bars, even if she couldn’t partake in all of the activities. Again, she liked the attention she got, and none of it was from ogling men. She scans the bar, trying to find which the date she agreed to meet. They’d agreed to meet in the middle of the bar, where it curved. There wasn’t anyone sitting there. Her date wasn’t here- and she thought she was the late one. There was another woman though, not too far away. She shouldn’t be staring, but it was hard not to. She was gorgeous.
Tall and slim, with deep red hair that curled down her back. She didn’t look like she belonged here, really. Light makeup, tortoiseshell glasses, a white button-up blouse, pants with a light floral pattern on them– a business professional femme, if you would. She was drinking red wine. It was rude not to at least say hello, what kind of manners would she have, leaving a pretty woman to drink alone?
She slides up beside her with a sly grin. The woman looks her over, smiles. She’s got thin lips that frame a pretty smile. It was easy to imagine what kissing her would feel like.
Easy there, tiger. You can’t fall in love. No one would want you, anyways. Not if they really knew you.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks. She adjusts a cherry-coloured curl over her chest. Her nails were painted pale pink. Her voice is warm, comforting. She sounded like someone who was trustworthy.
“Can I buy you another?” Her eyes directed down to the emptying wine glass. “You’ve got good taste.”
The woman shrugs. “I prefer rosé if I’m honest. Red makes you look sophisticated, though.”
“No need to prove anything here.” She flags over the bartender. “Can I get a glass of rosé, please?”
“You aren’t going to have one with me?”
She shakes her head. “I’m 34 days sober. And I’m Laura, by the way.”
“Clara,” the redhead nods curtly.
“Are you new to town?”
Clara nods. “I got a job here, I moved from Boston, I’m a surgeon. And, if I’m honest, I haven’t… found my place here yet.”
“I get that, I haven’t found my place anywhere yet.” A grim chuckle glibly escapes her lips. She wishes she had a drink. “I… have a place, we can go? Find something, if not ourselves. Just us two.”
“I’d like that,” Clara responds.
With their feet in the pool, nothing but the moon to overhear, secrets came to surface much faster than either woman anticipated. Clara was chatty once she got started; she found someone who she felt loved by, she could only say that about a few people in her entire life. It felt nice.
“So let me get this straight,” her poolside partner exclaims, shoes kicked off beside them, jeans rolled up, jacket off. “You only drink red wine cause you want to fit in with the bitches you work with?”
“You wouldn’t understand, you grew up with money, you grew up feeling like you belonged. Not to mention, you’re…. look at you.”
“What does that mean?” She leans back on her hands, looking into Clara’s soft blue eyes.
Clara shrugs lightly. “I’ve never fit in anywhere,” she says, almost whispering. “I’ve never found someone who loves me unconditionally. I don’t have many close relationships. I’m not out of the closet. I’m… me… and you’re…”
“I’m what?”
“You’re perfect. You’re pretty. You’re confident. You’re extroverted. You’re way out of my league.”
If only she knew everything else.
“I’m not perfect. I’ve got my secrets too.” You’ll never know all of them, even though I’m bad at keeping them. “I’m not out yet either, actually. There are people in my personal life that I don’t think would approve. I don’t have a lot of close relationships either. And heck, my real name isn’t actually even Laura...”
Damnit, why did I say that?
“Can I know what it is?”
“It’s Luisa.”
Clara smiles, glossing her hand over Luisa’s. “That suits you better.” She leans in close, close, closer, pink painted nails in a sea of straight dark strands. “Could I be one of your secrets tonight, Luisa?”
Just like that, she had hopelessly fallen down the rabbit hole. I’m so sorry, Clara. You seem so nice.
“Only for tonight.”