The Love Sucks Club(2)
Sam and I didn’t really fit into any of these groups, which is probably why we found each other. We became friends the moment we met. I’m pretty sure we were sisters in a past life. Honestly, I can’t explain it any other way. We had that kind of “eyes met across the crowded room” kind of moments, but there was never any sexual chemistry. We simply knew, instantly and with utter surety, that we were destined to be friends.
Sam is perpetually single. She’s been in love with some bitch back in the States for years, but the woman is supposedly straight. Every once in a while, she drunk dials Sam and promises her that underneath it all, she’s truly in love with Sam. They talk sexy to each other for a while and Sam hangs up the phone believing that it is only a matter of time before Josie leaves whatever guy she’s doing at the time.
Sliding into a chair at my favorite table, I glance around the restaurant. Every place around here is part restaurant, part bar, but this place seems to attract people who are more interested in having a meal and watching the waves than those who want to slam booze until they projectile vomit. Sam and I hang here for the excellent food and the view of the water. Our island doesn’t get a lot of tourists, and the ones that do come are more hippie than hottie. Every once in a while, a hot chick in a bikini saunters past our regular perches, but for the most part, the denizens of this beach are families with children or young men throwing tennis balls for dogs. Sam has just wandered across the beach from the water and plopped onto the chair next to me.
“The sea is like bath water today,” she says, shaking her head like a dog.
Wiping off the stray drops that land on me, I look out at the water. “Well, it is almost ninety degrees.”
“The locals say that when the sea water is this warm in June, it means a bad hurricane season.”
“The locals say everything means a bad hurricane season.”
Sam grins and sips her beer. “There’s a new woman on the island,” she says.
“I heard.”
“Heard she’s pretty cute.”
“Is she a dyke?”
“Who knows?” Sam shrugs, grinning. “If she’s straight, I might have a chance with her.”
Laughing, I toast her with my iced tea. “Straight women and gay men,” I chuckle. “They just can’t resist your charm.”
“It must be my gregarious personality.”
“Or something.”
I flag down our waitress and order a veggie pizza. Sam asks for another beer. She’s not a drinker the way the drinkers are, but she does enjoy a good buzz now and then. I, of course, don’t drink at all. That figures, doesn’t it? I lived with an alcoholic for ten years and I don’t touch the stuff. I suppose if I had ever been tempted to become a drinker, living with my ex would have cured me of that idea. Sam waves over Karen, a friend of hers from work. I don’t really know what to think of her yet. I’d like to say that if Sam thinks she’s cool, she must be cool, but I have to admit that sometimes, Sam is friends with the most useless women in the world. Karen is kind of sexy, in a culottes and polo shirt sort of way, so I’ve mostly written off their friendship to the possibility that Sam wants to sleep with her.
I give Karen a smile and a quick hello before turning my attention back to my notebook. I’m a writer. I always fancied myself as a cross between Robert Heinlein, without the nipple fixation, and Kurt Vonnegut, without the politics. Sam says I’m more like Danielle Steel for dykes. She’s a bitch, but dammit, she’s probably right. I’ve actually written several romancey type novels under my own name and they’ve done pretty well for dyke drama. The only book I’ve written that I considered serious was published under an assumed name and did shit for sales.
“Hey, Dana.” Karen pokes me in the arm. “Check out the new woman.”
I hear the guys at the other end of the bar muttering to themselves, but I don’t pay much attention. As I said, a new woman on the island is worthy of a press release. If she’s cute, every single lesbian and most males on the island perk up. If she’s not that cute, we still check her out. You know, there’s not that much excitement here and we have to entertain ourselves somehow. I shake myself out of my writing and look across the restaurant.
A tall, skinny woman is shaking water off herself at the top of the stairs from the beach. I don’t know if I’d call her beautiful, but she is cute. There’s something about her that I find appealing. Watching her throw a cover up over her bathing suit and lope over to the bar to place an order, I’m entranced. Her legs are long and on the verge of too skinny. Her elbows seem to poke out at ridiculous angles and as I look at her, one of them knocks into a bottle of ketchup and sends it flying across the bar. Sam is chuckling softly under her breath. We meet eyes and grin. The woman has short hair that falls over her face in the front and sticks up in little chunky spikes in the back.