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“What the hell was that about?”
Florence hasn’t even fully closed the door to the dressing room when Isa, who has just walked in ahead of her, spins around in a fury.
They have just come off stage at Alexandra Palace for their second of three gigs and, as much as Florence racks her brains, she cannot recall anything unusual that she has said or done that would have set Isa off like that. Except drinking a bit of Isa’s special-water-that-isn’t-really-water-but-vodka, but that was with permission, so…
“What makes you think you can just come over and kiss me like that? In front of five thousand people?”
Ok, so that’s what Isa is on about. A kiss. In all fairness, the gig is a bit of a blur and too fresh in her mind for Florence to remember exactly when she kissed Isa, but it does sound like something she would do, and she has definitely done it before. And because she’s done it before, she knows it’s not been a problem, until now.
“I don’t understand you sometimes! Do you have feelings for me? Because it sure seems like you do!”
Flo is almost relieved that the conversation so far has been a little one-sided. At least it gives her time to think about what she’s going to say to pacify her irate best friend. But when she chooses, she chooses badly.
“Says the one who proposed to me – also on stage!” is totally not the best thing to say in this instance, but it’s the one she goes for.
Isa lets out a frustrated groan. That was years ago, back when she still thought that something could happen between her and Florence; back when they were still skirting around it with jokes and mock proposals. Isa thought that that was the prelude to a relationship: two people testing the waters to see how far they could go, until they realised they both wanted to go the same way.
The relationship never came.
Florence, however, has never really let go of the joke, to the point it doesn’t bother her anymore how many people are actually there to watch. She has become bolder with her touches, going from kissing Isa on the cheek every once in a while to kissing her squarely on the mouth, and Isa doesn’t understand if it’s become some sort of automatic gesture, or if it’s not as innocent as it appears. To an observer, they would definitely look like come-ons. She knows that without having to ask anyone.
Actually, she knows that because people have asked her what’s going on.
It’s funny how Flo warns people not to get on Isa’s bad side, because now she is the one who is on it. She is the one with some explaining to do, and it had better make sense and not just be an “I wasn’t thinking” type of excuse. She’s the one who clings back to an example from too many months ago, back when an onstage proposal was an exciting thing for Isa, because something might actually come of it, in real life.
Isa might be hot-blooded, but hot-headed she is not. She and Florence have never had an argument, and they’re certainly not going to start now, if she can help it.
“That was a one-off joke. But yours are not. I’ve lost count how many times you’ve done stuff like that on stage in the last 6 months. It’s confusing me, Flo, ok?”
Florence considers this for a moment. She has long accepted that Isa does not return her feelings, so displaying affection at times when she can blame adrenaline and euphoria has become her only chance to taste what could have been. But she’s never really given much thought to how Isa feels about it; that she could be confused hasn’t even crossed her mind.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… ow!!!”
The door swings open and hits Florence on her shoulderblade. Chris pokes his head in with an apologetic smile.
“You haven’t even changed???” he complains. “Guys, we have to be out of the venue in 15 minutes!!”
“That’s fine!” Isa shouts back nervously, waving him away.
When Chris disappears back into the corridor, something has shifted in the atmosphere, and neither of them really wants to finish the conversation.
“We should probably go”, Isa says.
Florence nods and takes a deep breath. “Just so you know, I am sorry if I upset you,” she apologises softly, “I won’t do it again.”
Then, realising she can’t actually get changed without Isa’s help, she has to ask “Can you unzip my catsuit, please?”
-*-
With the last Alexandra Palace gig out of the way, the band enjoy a night out on the town with no curfew and no restrictions on drinking. Things have been ok between Florence and Isa, and Flo didn’t do anything “confusing” tonight, although that may just be because she had the added pressure of being broadcast live on the radio.
They have only just arrived at the East London club and Isa, being small, manages to squeeze her way to the front of the crowd; she buys two pints and hands one to Florence.
As suicidal as it is to ask this whilst squeezed in between a packed bar and an even more packed dance floor, Florence accepts the glass gratefully and shouts: “Would it be ok if I kissed you now??”
“Are you mad??” Isa responds. She can’t even blame alcohol since they’ve barely had a sip of their first drink.
“Well, you said it bothered you with no warning and with thousands of people. There are a lot less people here, and no one is paying attention!”
Isa is more than a little puzzled. It’s not just that she’s straining to hear what Florence is saying over the blaring music and has to lip-read most of it, it’s also that she finds it an odd request. Most people would just do it; Florence, evidently mindful of their conversation from last night, is asking permission. And it’s weirdly arousing.
It’s almost like Florence reads her thoughts. “Isa, I want to kiss you all the fucking time. On stage was the safe way to do it, but if I can’t do that, then I’m just going to have to ask, you know?”
She is mad. She is out of her fucking mind. But Isa does want her to do it. She’s wanted her to do it for months; years even.
“Yes.” She shouts back, setting her drink onto the nearest surface. “Yes, okay.” Only then does she allow herself to grin.
For someone who “wants to kiss her all the fucking time”, Florence still manages not to rush. She kisses Isa very softly, blocking out the music and their surroundings and keeping her own pace. Isa smiles and her head rushes like crazy when Florence nibbles on her bottom lip. She has to grab onto the strap of Flo’s sleeveless dress because she feels her knees might give way at any moment.
Florence leans over to shout in Isa’s ear: “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
Isa touches her fingertips to Flo’s cheek so she doesn’t pull away, and replies, “Not as long as I have wanted you to do it, I bet.”
She smiles and looks down, then shakes her head slightly, almost embarrassed at her own confession.
“You need to take off those fucking shoes, though!” she mouths at Florence. “I can’t bloody reach you!!”
Flo’s laugh is loud enough to be heard over the music. She happily obliges, holding the shoes by the heels in a self-conscious “ta daah!”.
That’s a little better, Isa thinks. She closes her eyes and captures Florence’s lips again, losing herself in the process. Kissing her best friend is more intoxicating than any alcohol-induced sensation could ever be.
It’s not true that people aren’t paying attention. Their bandmates are, and their questions are finally answered after months of speculation. Tomorrow, they will not joke about it. They will just act like this has been going on forever; truthfully, it has. Florence and Isa are just the only two people who didn’t know.
“We are idiots, you know?” Florence chuckles, taking a swig of her beer.
Isa retrieves her own glass and toasts Flo. “Maybe. But I don’t care that I’m an idiot so long as I’m happy.”
Florence struggles to hear all the words, but her smile shows that she understands.
“Me too,” she says, and she drags Isa onto the dance floor.