“You and everyone else, baby,” I say, taking her arm. Linking my other arm through Susannah’s, I guide them both to the restaurant door.
“Oh, Dana,” Olivia drawls as I hold the door open for her. “You’re almost a gentleman.”
“A gentlewoman,” I correct.
“A gentle butch,” Susannah adds.
“Ah hell, she’s not a butch,” Sam says from the other side of the waiting area.
We give each other one arm hugs. She greets the ladies and gestures toward the seating area. “I have a table already.”
Olivia takes Sam’s arm forcefully and marches her through the restaurant. Sam looks back at me in question, but all I can do is shrug. Susannah smiles. “Olivia likes to make a scene and if she can’t show up with a man on her arm, then she’s going to show up with a woman.”
“Sam’s a good-looking dyke,” I agree. “She’s certainly a better catch than the porn star Olivia was dating the other night.”
“Oh God,” Susannah rolls her eyes. “Don’t even mention him.”
We reach the table and I hold a chair out for my sister. Olivia is already seated.
“All we ever do is eat,” she complains. “There’s nothing to do on this island but go out to eat or drink.”
“Make your own fun,” I answer. “Take a hike. Start a volleyball game. Go snorkeling. Learn to play the harmonica.”
Flopping back in her chair, Sam rolls her eyes. “Please do not counsel her to learn the harmonica. I can picture her whipping it out at every bonfire and blasting all of our ears.”
“Why are you such an asshole?” Olivia asks.
“Why do you take everything so personally?”
“It’s hard not to take it personally when you’re talking specifically about me.”
“She’s got a point there,” Susannah says, picking up her menu.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry for hurting your overly sensitive feelings,” Sam says.
Interrupting before Olivia can respond, I ask my sister what we should order. She points out her favorite items on the menu and we make a plan. Sam flips to the back where they have food for non-sushi eaters and scans the page. “Here we go. Cheeseburger. It better be good.”
“You’re so worldly, Sam,” Olivia says.
“I like meat, potatoes, football, and belching,” Sam replies. “I’m an all-American butch.”
“All-American redneck is more like it,” Olivia sniffs.
“Give me a break. I saw that Country’s Best Hits compilation in your car.”
“So? You don’t have to be a redneck to listen to country!”
“No, but it helps,” I add.
The waiter brings our drinks and takes our food order. As he’s leaving the table, I notice Mandy sitting across the room from us with a woman I vaguely recognize from The Sands. Elbowing Sam, I nod in their direction. “Who’s that?”
“That’s...ah...what’s her name.”
“Thank you. That’s incredibly helpful.”
“She used to date the woman who runs the chiro office on the east side.
I snap my fingers and nod my head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh God, what’s her name?”
Olivia glances across the room. “That’s Vickie Jane Lowry.”
“How do you know?” Sam looks incredulous.
“I don’t live under a rock. I know people.”
“How do you know her?” Sam wants to know.
“She came on to me one night at The Loon. We talked for a couple of hours. She’s a very nice woman.”
“She’s not at all nice,” Sam replies. “She’s a snooty realtor type. Why the hell was she hitting on you?”
“Wow, Sam. Jealous much?” Olivia asks.
Affronted, Sam snorts, but doesn’t reply.
The waiter starts laying our food out on the table and Susannah grabs her chopsticks. She takes a California roll, lays out a sliver of fresh ginger on top of it, dips it into the slightest bit of wasabi and holds it out to Sam. “Just try it,” she cajoles.
“Forget it,” Sam says, shaking her head. She takes a huge bite of her burger and pronounces it perfect.
Pretending to be enjoying my meal, I keep taking sidelong glances at Mandy and Vicki. I wonder if they’re dating each other now. As I watch, Mandy takes a piece of food from her own plate and feeds it to Vicki. Her fingers linger on the other woman’s lips. I wonder if my ex knows that Mandy is whoring around. Then again, why should I care? I guess I don’t like her that much, but we do have a history. I don’t want to see her get fucked over.
“It’s probably none of my business,” I mutter.