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“We can’t keep having the same conversation, Marlene! We have to do something about this — you’re about to run an Oscars campaign and all people can focus on is your clothes! I’m sorry, Sybil had to be fired.”
Marlene lets out a frustrated scream, her hands coming up in front of her to choke the air. She’s imagining it’s Lily she’s choking, the red hair getting tangled around her forearms and in the rings on her fingers as she squeezes the living daylight out of her for firing her stylist behind her back.
Sure, Sibyl wasn’t… great. Sybil didn’t really pay much attention to what Marlene wanted, what Marlene liked. Who Marlene was. But she had been with Marlene since her very first film all those years ago and if there was one thing Marlene hated it was change.
“So what do you propose we do now that I don’t have a stylist at all? Am I to dress myself, Lillian? Do you think that would be better; for me to show up at the Oscars or the MET Gala in combat boots and fishnet stockings? What exactly is your plan here?”
Lily rolls her eyes, fingers tap-tap-tapping onto her phone (she has three and she’s always glued to at least one of them, as is the way of the agent) while she talks.
“Actually, my plan is this: we try something new. No more stylist. We’ve managed to get you your own designer.”
Marlene raises an eyebrow, completely baffled by the words coming out of Lily’s mouth.
“Excuse me? My own designer? And who’s going to pay for that? Who’s even going to be willing to agree to such a deal?”
Before Lily has the chance to reply, a smooth voice from somewhere behind Marlene answers.
“Me,” the voice says, calm as can be.
Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around. Marlene turns around.
Marlene keeps turning around. The moment stretches on forever.
Marlene turns around and there is the most beautiful creature she’s ever seen.
A goddess, in the shape of a woman.
Aphrodite herself come to tempt her.
Because she must be holy, some kind of deity, to look like that.
The woman in front of her is tall.
Marlene is tall herself but she’s always hunched over, always leaning on things or people, always making herself smaller. But this person? This celestial being in front of her? She carries it so well.
She exudes quiet confidence with the way she stands, the way she holds herself. The way she dresses and looks.
She’s got locs all the way down to her waist, a golden nose ring that reflects the light in the room and does wonders for her beautiful, dark skin.
And the eyes.
Oh, god, the eyes.
Marlene had never seen anything like them. So big and beautiful and brown, round and doe-eyed. They look almost doll-like with the long lashes framing them.
Marlene, who never much fancied eye contact, could not look away. Never wished to look away. Would’ve chosen to stay there, to live there and swim in those pools of darkness, forever if she could. Would have happily drowned and died right there.
The woman raises an eyebrow and Lily clears her throat as the silence stretches on. Marlene can't seem to get her mouth to open, her body to work or follow the simplest of commands.
“This is Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene. She comes highly recommended and money won’t be an issue as I called in a favour from Sirius to get her and she was looking for a challenge, not a pay raise. Also, I promised her the MET Gala and she was willing to agree to do it for the exposure. Dorcas, this is Marlene McKinnon.”
Dorcas Meadowes. What a name.
All the anger in Marlene has evaporated at the sight before her, punched out in a breath that comes out too loudly.
“Um,” she says. “Hello.”
Hello?! Get it together, McKinnon!
Dorcas’s lips twitch, as if she’s finding Marlene amusing. Marlene does not want to be found amusing. She wants to be found hot and cool and preferably in Dorcas’s arms.
“Hello,” Dorcas replies.
She looks Marlene up and down, gaze taking everything in.
As she scans Marlene, Marlene holds her breath. She’s not sure why but she feels like she’s being tested. For what, she’s not sure. All she knows is that she's suddenly back at school, hoping that the cool kids will approve of her. They never did. But maybe Dorcas was different.
“Hm,” Dorcas says after a moment of silence. “We have our work cut out for us but I can see the potential. Let’s get to work.”
“Do you even know how to style people?” Marlene asks later that same day when Lily finally leaves them alone.
She’s still not completely on board with this. Dorcas’s beauty aside, Marlene is a creature of habit and all she’s ever known is Sybil. It’s only natural she’s wary of Dorcas, even while she can’t keep her eyes away from the other woman.
Dorcas raises an eyebrow behind her and Marlene sees it in the mirror, her face immediately changing into something akin to offence at Marlene’s words.
“Are you doubting my abilities before we’ve even begun? I’ll have you know I have—”
“No!” Marlene immediately jumps in.
Of course she’s already managed to offend her. Marlene and her stupid mouth. Always putting her foot in it. When they were little, Peter would call James and Marlene “the twins” for this very reason. Neither of them knew how to shut up.
“No,” she says again, calmer. “No, I just meant.. aren’t stylists and designers two different things? Like, you make the clothes and a stylist… styles them…?”
Dorcas sighs, hands coming up to rest on the back of Marlene’s chair.
“Yes, they are two different things. However, I spent a lot of time styling for designers before I started designing myself. For the experience. It was actually while I was styling that I realised what I really wanted to do was design. So trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
Marlene bites her lips, nodding slowly.
She’d give Dorcas a chance, it was only fair. It’s not like she had a choice anyway, Sybil was already gone.
And, a traitorous voice in Marlene’s head said, it’s not like she can be worse than Sybil.
She promptly tells that voice to shut up.
“So I’ve been checking you out,” Dorcas says, watching Marlene in the mirror.
Marlene splutters at this.
“Sorry?” she manages to get out as she’s choking on her own spit. Which is, of course, extremely mortifying and very much not the cool vibes Marlene is going for.
Dorcas has been checking her out? Maybe she had a chance after all.
Wait, what? A chance?
Marlene didn’t need a chance. A chance was stupid. Dorcas was a fantasy and nothing else, Marlene couldn’t be dating someone who worked for her. She could already imagine the headlines. The people trying to cancel her. She could see that Oscar she had been working so hard for slipping away.
No. Dorcas was simply a fantasy. And that’s what she’d stay.
“Yes,” Dorcas continues, completely unaffected by Marlene having a near-death experience in front of her. “Your history, your outfits. And what I’ve gathered is… pretty much nothing. There’s no theme, no red thread, no sense of personality or something that screams Marlene McKinnon. It’s just… a bunch of nothing, thrown together. A child fumbling for the closest clothes because they haven’t learned what works well together yet.”
Marlene’s cheeks redden at this.
It’s not like she’s embarrassed by her clothing style, not really. In fact, she’s pretty happy with the way that she looks most of the time, which is rare for someone in her profession. But there’s a grain of truth to Dorcas’s words.
Sybil never understood Marlene, never figured out what Marlene was or represented. So she kept testing things out to see what would stick and nothing ever did. It was embarrassing having somebody else realise that that had been the case. That Marlene had been that invisible to Sybil.
“Wow,” she mutters. “Don’t hold back or anything, I guess.”
Dorcas sighs. Leans forward until she’s hovering right above Marlene. Looks her straight in the eye in the mirror and says:
“Listen, I’m not going to sugarcoat things. I call it like I see it and what I see is not you. Do you disagree?”
Marlene takes a moment to think. The obvious answer is no, of course not. She already knows that she’s never felt comfortable in the things Sybil dressed her in. But it’s one thing to know it and another to admit aloud to someone who is basically a stranger that you are lost. That you don’t feel seen. That you’re not sure how to let anyone see the real you.
She bites her lip before slowly giving in.
Anything for that Oscar, she thinks. She doesn’t even care about the stupid Oscar. She just wants to do her job. Sadly, getting an Oscar means getting to do her job would be much easier.
“No,” she says finally. “Sybil never.. considered my personal taste. Or me, really.”
Dorcas nods, seemingly satisfied with this.
“Good, now that that’s out of the way: let’s get to know the real you. Who are you, Marlene McKinnon?”
“I look ridiculous.”
“You really don’t.”
“I look like a pastry. Like one of those french cream puffs Sirius is always eating except, like, pastel.”
“Yeah, but you look like a cute pastel pastry.”
Marlene starts at that, blinking hard.
“Um. Did you just call me cute?”
Dorcas rolls her eyes.
“Is that all you got from this?”
Marlene sighs, looking in the mirror. They’re trying to find Marlene. Or at least that’s what Dorcas calls it.
Lily calls it a private fashion show.
Marlene calls it never ending torture.
She’s wearing something that looks like it belongs on the tooth fairy, not a twenty-something actor who’s being called the hottest thing in Hollywood in years. It’s got layers and layers of frill and tulle and it’s cinched at the waist in some kind of semi-corset-like contraption and it’s a dress.
Marlene is not a fan.
“Whoever this is, it’s not me,” she says, lifting a random silk ribbon that’s hanging off of her sleeve in the shape of a bow in disgust.
Dorcas nods.
“No,“ she says slowly. “It definitely is not.”
What does that mean?
They’ve been working on this all week. In between interviews and photoshoots and other non-actually acting related work, Dorcas has been probing and prodding, asking questions, taking measurements, coming over to Marlene’s apartment with dozens of outfits to try day after day.
So far they haven’t had much luck. Or any luck, if she’s being honest.
Dorcas sighs, takes a step back and away from Marlene to give her space to move.
“Alright you can change back now. I have one more outfit for you but let’s take a break first. My hands are cramping up.”
Marlene resists the urge to actually sprint to her bedroom to change.
She knows Dorcas is only doing her job. That she doesn’t actually mean to torture her. But it is torture nonetheless.
Marlene doesn’t really like… being seen. Observed. Perceived.
That’s why she’d always loved acting.
She could disappear into somebody else’s life. Somebody else’s love and woes and story. She could be somebody else, even if just long enough to tell their tale. She didn’t want people to pay attention to her own.
She hadn’t said any of this to Dorcas of course. That would be weird. Although they’d gotten close this week, what-with spending most nights together, eating and drinking and trying out clothes while Dorcas asked her everything about her in an attempt to understand her style (and Marlene shot questions right back, partly to deflect and partly because her heart still beat a little faster every time she saw Dorcas at her door.) they were still strangers. It had only been one week. And Dorcas wasn’t her therapist.
Which is why Lily had been working overtime this week on calming her down.
“Is it okay if I get the wine from last night?” Dorcas yells from the living room while Marlene is trying to figure out which of the five ribbons she needs to pull to get this goddamn dress off of her.
“Yeah, no, that’s fine! Pour me a glass as well, please! A big one!”
“Way ahead of you, babes!”
Babes.
Honestly, what is Marlene meant to do when Dorcas treats her like this?
Calls her babes and darling and my love.
Ugh.
Marlene could really use that wine.
When she’s back into her own T-shirt and shorts and she’s trudged back out into the living room Dorcas is already sitting on the floor in front of her sofa table, two glasses of red wine by her side.
“Ughhh,” Marlene groans as she lowers herself onto the floor.
She’s not sure how this started, the two of them sitting on the floor when there was a perfectly good sofa right behind them but this has become their new routine. Try on clothes, get a glass of wine on the floor when the dress-up inevitably fails, discuss what things worked and what didn’t and then spend the rest of the night talking and trying to figure Marlene out.
Dorcas hands her one of the glasses and Marlene sighs happily.
“Thanks,” she says as they clink their glasses together.
“Cheers,” Dorcas replies before taking a big gulp of the carmine liquid.
“So,” she continues. “There’s one more outfit.”
Marlene groans again.
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Actually,” Dorcas says. “It probably can but I’d like to see it on you tonight if I can. It’s just.. I think I’m on the right track. I think we’re close.”
Marlene raises an eyebrow.
“You think pastel pastry-shaped gowns is the right track?”
“No,” Dorcas sighs. “I never really did but I wanted to exhaust all our options. The next thing.. the next thing is mine. My design. I started working on it after our first night of doing this. I think I’m slowly figuring you out and I think I can recreate that in an outfit.”
Marlene doubts it. Sure, the nights of alcohol and sweet talking had loosened her tongue quite a bit this past week but all she’d told Dorcas was shallow. Favourite colours (red and orange), favourite family member (her nana), favourite film (when interviewers asked she always said But I’m a cheerleader! but really it was D.E.B.S), favourite song (That’s an impossible question, Dorcas Meadowes.
It’s really not, Marlene McKinnon.
Okay then, what’s yours?
Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying, the Jeff Buckley version.
Hm, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one.
You should, it’s really good. I’ll make you a playlist.
Marlene had listened to that playlist every day since Dorcas had sent it to her. And if she secretly felt giddy that someone as cool as Dorcas Meadowes had made her a playlist that was between her and the God she did not believe in.)… all shallow things. Nothing concrete enough to actually perceive Marlene.
She didn’t plan on telling Dorcas that though.
“Hm,” was all she could muster.
Dorcas raises an eyebrow as she sips her wine. A couple of drops stay on her lower lip and Marlene has to look away. Take a big gulp of her own wine. Swallow loudly.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she protests but she can tell Dorcas doesn’t believe her. “It’s just that you’ve barely known me for a week. Sybil knew me for years. What makes you think you’ve somehow managed to figure me out when Sybil never managed?”
Dorcas stares at her in silence until Marlene almost starts squirming. The only thing keeping her from doing so is years and years of acting. She’s used to having people look her right in the eye for prolonged periods of time. But still, there’s something about the way Dorcas looks at her that makes her feel naked. Vulnerable. Seen.
Which is impossible, Marlene reminds herself. You’ve only told her shallow stuff, remember?
Dorcas keeps looking, her eyes dipping down to where Marlene is biting her lip before returning to her eyes. Something in her gaze darkens and the feral animal that beats against the cage that is Marlene’s ribs every time she sees Dorcas finally curls up in her stomach, warm and pleasant and content.
“I know you, Marlene McKinnon. Time matters little when it comes to knowing you.”
Marlene isn’t sure what to say to that. How to respond. She feels breathless suddenly, her palms hot and sweaty and her cheeks burning.
Fuck. I can’t let this happen, she thinks.
“Um,” she manages to get out, her voice all high and wrong and embarrassing. “Okay, let’s try on those designs of yours then.”
She’s not sure how she’s done it but Dorcas has actually nailed it and the idea that Dorcas managed to find something — that Dorcas actually made something — that Marlene feels good in is fucking with her heart.
Because Dorcas hadn’t lied. She had seen her. She did know her. Even with Marlene trying to keep her away.
“Are you decent?” Dorcas asks through the door.
“That depends on your definition of decent,” Marlene replies automatically before she even realises what she’s said.
She can hear Dorcas snort from behind the door though so she can’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed that that had managed to slip out.
“No, I’m ready. You can come in.”
Dorcas turns the knob slowly, stepping into Marlene’s room.
She’s standing in front of the mirror, wearing the outfit Dorcas has designed.
For you. The design she’s made for you, she reminds herself.
It’s simple, the design. It’s a dark red, like Marlene’s favourite colour and the fabric glitters in gold whenever she moves, as if she was sparkling. As if she were waves in the water. It’s simple but beautiful. And it’s not a dress, thank God.
“Oh, wow,” Dorcas says as she comes up behind her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look pleased when wearing an outfit before.”
Marlene can’t help but snort at that.
“Yeah,” she agrees quietly.
She can’t look away from herself in the mirror. The two piece set with the high-waisted bell-bottomed trousers and the high neck, sleeveless top makes her already tall frame look taller and she actually looks like a star, she thinks. She’s never really felt like one before, no matter how long she’d been in the industry or how many awards she’d won.
“I can’t believe this,” she says. There’s tears in her eyes now. She’s not sure how they got there, only that she can feel them against her skin, warm and wet and salty. She’s tries to blink them away but it’s useless.
Marlene Mckinnon is seen. Marlene McKinnon is known. Marlene McKinnon is beautiful, in Dorcas’s eyes.
“Believe what?” Dorcas asks, looking right at Marlene through the mirror.
She doesn’t shy away from her tears. From her feelings.
“That you were right,” she whispers as she wipes away the tears streaming down her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Embarrassingly, she sniffles.
Dorcas sighs, puts a hand on her shoulder to turn her around. Marlene goes willingly.
Before she knows it they’re face to face and somehow Dorcas’s thumbs have found their way to her cheeks and are wiping the tears away for her.
“Marlene,” she says. “I’m always right.”
Marlene snorts at that but she doesn’t disagree. So far Dorcas had been right about everything. Maybe she was right about being right as well.
“Fuck, ” Marlene whispers. “How did this happen? How did you manage to do this? How do you know me?”
Dorcas' gaze on her is patient, kind. Loving.
“Don’t you know me?” she says back.
Marlene thinks about it. She supposes that’s true. She did know Dorcas. Had felt like she’d known Dorcas her entire life and every life before that. As if they were long lost souls relearning each other in this new life where they’d been fortunate enough to meet again.
She nods.
“Well,” Dorcas continues. “So do I. Knowing you is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done, Marlene McKinnon.”
And Marlene can’t help it.
I mean, who could blame her?
Of course she leans forward at that. Of course she sways into Dorcas’s space, as if drawn there by gravity or magic or some ancient being pulling at the strings of their fates. Of course she kisses her.
And Dorcas kisses her back immediately, so sweet and soft and lovely between her lips, beneath her teeth, against her tongue. So beautiful, here in Marlene’s arms.
Maybe being seen wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Fuck, she thinks. I’m going to have to tell Lily about this.
There’s only three events left before Dorcas’s contract is up and they can officially, publicly start dating. Well, two now. Because Marlene is just coming home from the first of the three events.
She’s been invited to high tea, an event in LA in the lead-up to the Oscars.
The high tea had been amazing and Marlene had absolutely adored the little pastries that had been passed around as she and her fellow actors drank their teas from fancy porcelain cups with golden edges. Marlene just barely stopped herself from drinking with her pinky out.
It was only after her third macaron that Regulus, who was also there as a Best Actor nominee, had leaned over and informed her this wasn’t high tea. This was high tea. As in, everything she’d been consuming for the past twenty minutes had contained weed.
She’d promptly freaked out after that, seeing as she was not one for drugs. Not that she cared about if anyone did them or not but she herself did not feel comfortable losing control over herself like that.
And to do it in a room full of her peers and colleagues as well as journalists? She was screwed.
What if she told them about Dorcas? What if she let something slip? This was not good.
Regulus had had to help her through a panic attack on the floor of the corridor right outside of the toilets while she repeated over and over again I’m screwed, I’m screwed, I’m screwed, I’m screwed.
She’d apologised to him afterwards – after all she’d never really been friends with him in the way she was friends with his brother and she was sure this wasn’t how he’d wanted to spend his evening but he’d only shrugged and said she’d given him an excuse to get away from people so really it was a win-win situation for him.
“Also,” he had added as Marlene brushed her clothes off, finally able to stand steadily again. “Sirius would’ve killed me if I hadn’t helped. So.”
And that was that.
They’d stuck to each other for the rest of the event, Marlene too scared that she’d let the news about Dorcas spill, Regulus happy to have an excuse to not interact with others.
But now, she is back home and she is feeling the weed a lot. It was the kind that made her giggly and open, almost as if she were tipsy.
She’d never felt so light except for maybe the first time she had kissed Dorcas and every time after that.
“Honey, I’m hoooome!” she sings out into her empty apartment.
“I thought you were Marlene,” a voice calls back from the living room.
Marlene gasps.
“Babe! What are you doing here?!”
She hurries to take her shoes off (combat boots, not heels, because Dorcas actually lets her be herself, thank you very much!) and falls onto the sofa and straight into Dorcas’s lap.
“Lily texted me about your… situation. Thought it would be best if you weren’t alone tonight.”
Marlene smiles widely.
“How did you get in?” she asks as she wounds her arms around Dorcas, fingers rubbing against the nape of her neck in the way that always made Dorcas shiver. She could feel the other woman’s arms coming up and around her too, hands locking at the base of her back.
“You gave me a key, darling” she says, amusement clear in her voice.
Marlene laughs and it’s a full bodied thing; her head thrown back as her shoulders shake with mirth.
“I did, didn’t I?” she grins down at her girlfriend.
Girlfriend. Dorcas Meadowes is her girlfriend.
Dorcas snorts.
“You are so high,” she says.
“Hm,” Marlene agrees, leaning down until her head is resting against Dorcas’s shoulder.
“Can I sleep here?” she says, her eyes already closing as the words slip from her mouth. She breathes Dorcas in, the smell of oud and peonies and something distinctly Dorcas.
It’s Marlene’s favourite smell these days.
“Won’t you be more comfortable in your bed?” Dorcas asks as she starts stroking her hair with one hand, the other one still holding her safely against herself.
“No,” Marlene disagrees immediately. “Here is the most comfortable. With you.”
Dorcas sighs softly, kisses her forehead as she rocks them back and forth on the sofa.
“Alright, babe. You can sleep here. But no complaining in the morning about cricks in your neck.”
Marlene nods in agreement, feeling a wave of exhaustion washing over her as she settles against her girlfriend.
“You know me,” she sings against the nape of Dorcas’s neck, her tone equal amounts teasing and pleased.
“And you know me,” Dorcas says back.
The Oscars fly by.
Marlene doesn’t win but she hadn’t really expected to win anyway. She was too young, too new.
She’d still made it onto every front page for the clothes she’d worn — a beautiful two piece suit in black with little studs all over the blazer that looked like tiny stars.
She’d worn nothing underneath, something she’d never been bold enough to do before but.
Well.
Dorcas had been good for her confidence.
Regulus, who’d been a Hollywood darling since he was a child, however, did win and when she found him having a panic attack during one of the breaks right before his award had been announced she’d finally gotten to return the favour from the high tea.
They’d celebrated his win afterward by ditching the after parties and going to a burger joint. She wasn’t sure who’d been more proud nor who had beamed more at the boy — James or Sirius. Either way it had been a good night and she’d been able to bring Dorcas along for the burgers.
It wasn’t as good as having her as a date but Marlene wasn’t complaining. There was always next year, Lily had reminded her.
Marlene couldn’t wait until next year.
But for now, there was one final event. One where she actually could bring Dorcas as her date. Where she was even expected to.
The MET Gala.
The theme was Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination.
And Dorcas? Dorcas had outdone herself.
She’d spent weeks and months locked away in her studio, working at all hours of the night while Marlene had been going through award season.
Never once had she let slip what she was doing.
It was a surprise, she had claimed. She wanted Marlene to see it only when it was finished.
It was beautiful, the outfit. Lethal. Symbolic.
Dorcas had made her a metal armour, complete with glittering chainmail and a breast plate perfectly moulded to her body, a spiked belt and a train that sparkled when she moved, the metal reflecting the blinding lights of paparazzi flashes.
It was an armour meant to protect her and keep her away from prying eyes all the while being so breathtaking that it still called attention to itself. To her.
And yet she didn’t look clunky or awkward, shy or afraid, the way she had so many times before on the red carpet.
She looked regal and dangerous and beautiful.
Dorcas had turned her into Joan of Arc.
“I know you,” Dorcas had said. “And what I know is this: you are strong and kind and funny. You are the most passionate person I know and you care so, so deeply. You are unapologetically yourself. You stand up for what you believe in and you are willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. You are Joan of Arc incarnate.”
Marlene may or may not have shed a few tears at this. Dorcas may or may not have kissed them away. Sue them, they were in love and allowed to be sappy.
Before they’d left for the gala Dorcas had stopped her though.
She’d handed her a pair of scissors. Marlene looked at her inquisitively.
“What’s this for?” she’d asked.
Dorcas shrugged.
“I know you,” she’d said again and every time Marlene heard those words all she could hear was I love you. “You’ve been wanting to cut your hair for a while now and I know you’re afraid of what people might say. But I know you and I know this is what you really want, what you’d do if you didn’t have the whole world watching you. So do it anyway. Do it for yourself, Marlene.”
And so Marlene had wrapped her fingers around the scissors and she’d thought long and hard about it and she’d handed them back to Dorcas.
She could see the look of disappointment in Dorcas’s eyes even as she tried to quickly blink it away.
“I think you should do it,” she’d said.
Dorcas’s eyes had lit up at that. So full of love that Marlene wanted to look away because she felt blinded by it.
She didn’t though. She’d never look away from Dorcas.
And so that’s how, half an hour before the MET Gala, Dorcas chopped Marlene’s hair off, all the way to just below her ears. Just like how Marlene had dreamed of doing for ages.
Marlene had never felt more free, as if a weight had been lifted off of her.
Marlene had never felt more loved either.
Marlene had never felt more known.
And now she stands here, on a red carpet, with Dorcas by her side.
She’s gushing to everyone about her designer, about her outfit, about how excited she is to wear a Dorcas Meadowes-exclusive.
She doesn’t tell them about the years of feeling invisible and unknown. She doesn’t tell them of the week of drinking wine on the floor of her apartment which turned into months of drinking wine on the floor of their apartment or the feeling of being loved and known that Dorcas gives her.
Some things, Marlene McKinnon finds, are still best kept away from prying eyes.
But when Dorcas stands there next to her, fixing her hair or her outfit for the umpteenth time, she’s still compelled by some force greater than herself to hold her hand and she finds that it doesn’t scare her.
It doesn’t feel awful, to be perceived like this with Dorcas by her side.
She doesn’t care what they say tomorrow in the news, doesn’t care what the people at home might be tweeting. They don’t know her, not really.
But Dorcas does.
And that’s all that matters.