Beneath the Surface(2)

Sheryl had found her community early on and it had made her thrive, of that she was sure. Now it was time to give back. Out of gratitude for the people who had come before her and battled for her rights in a way she would never have to, and for everyone who was less fortunate than her. The women’s studies department of the University of Sydney where she was doing her PhD was a veritable paradise for lesbians.

“I can see the potential,” Kristin said, snapping Sheryl out of her reverie.

Sheryl plastered the most seductive grin on her face she could muster and turned to Kristin. “Your name is on the guest list, of course. You’re very welcome to come see for yourself how Sydney’s lesbians are enjoying your wine.”

Kristin gave a nervous laugh—the first sign of her being nervous at all. “Maybe I will,” she said.

“I’ll look out for you.” Sheryl had to stop herself from winking.

“Where do you want these?” the delivery man asked.

“Just over there by the bar, please,” Sheryl said, and the moment had passed. Though she had a sneaking suspicion Kristin might very well show up tomorrow night. “I’ll give you a hand.” Sheryl helped unload the boxes from the trolley so the man could go for the next round in the van while, from the corner of her eye, she watched Kristin walk about the venue. She stood where the dance floor would be, and Sheryl tried to picture her dancing under the pulsating light, wondered if she danced at all. Maybe she would find out tomorrow. Maybe.



Kristin paced in front of her bedroom mirror. She hadn’t planned to go to this party. She hadn’t even planned to escort the wine delivery yesterday afternoon. Sterling Wines sponsored many events. If she accompanied every delivery, she wouldn’t get any actual work done. But Sheryl Johnson had sent her a leaflet with the Lesbian Association of the University of Sydney’s mission statement and a group picture of the women who ran it. She’d read the names underneath the picture with great interest, hoping she’d come across Sheryl, whose deep, warm voice she’d only heard on the phone.

When she reached Sheryl, crouching in the bottom left corner of the picture, she’d found herself uttering a little appreciative sound in the back of her throat. That wide, confident smile. Those light blue eyes. Kristin didn’t really know what her type was, although, as she approached thirty, she was quite certain her type was female and not male. The image of Sheryl combined with her voice had convinced her to call up Ari in the warehouse and ask him to wait for her so she could tag along on the delivery for the LAUS.

And now there she stood. Kristin didn’t like parties with loud, thumping music. Places where people were ogled and scored for how they looked. She had plenty of suitable attire for the many work receptions she had to attend, but what on earth did one wear to a lesbian party? And would there only be women? She’d felt a warm rush of something travel through her when Sheryl suggested she come to the party, as though she had somehow known that Kristin was only there that afternoon to meet her in the flesh.

Goodness, she was being silly. She wasn’t going to that party. She really didn’t have anything to wear. This was not what she did. Which was exactly the reason Kristin hadn’t extensively tested her newfound self-awareness—or was it acceptance?—that no man would ever do to her what a woman could.

She’d gone on a couple of dates with women who had advertised in the classifieds’ section of Lesbians on the Loose. One of them had been quite nice. Maybe not exactly what Kristin was looking for, but really, how could she possibly know what she was looking for? She and Petra had gone out a couple of times, had sort of hit it off, and Kristin had—foolishly—believed that was it.

She was sleeping with a woman for the first time in her life, and even though the sky didn’t come crashing down, it was infinitely more pleasurable to be touched by a woman’s hands than by a man’s. Because Kristin didn’t know any better, she believed she had found The One. Until, only five dates into their short-lived affair, Petra told her it wouldn’t work out. Kristin’s heart wasn’t broken, but the rejection stung enough to have her retreat. She even, if only for a split second, considered going back to men because it would be so much easier. Her parents would be happy, for one. Now they—almost silently—tolerated that Kristin wasn’t even engaged to be married on the cusp of her thirtieth birthday.

Kristin looked at herself in the mirror again. She had to go. She could call Cassie and ask her to join. Kristin knew Cassie would do that for her. Apart from the women Kristin had furtively dated, Cassie was her only friend who knew about her wanting to be with women.