Heteroflexibility (5 page)

“Had to help out my friend Zest,” Fern answered.

I tried to listen in, but the Hoebags were all coming up to hug or high five me. Blitz and Krieg introduced themselves properly. Finally the new girl approached. She didn’t try to hug me, sticking out her hand for a shake instead. “I’m Audrey Two.” Her grip was firm, confident, and dry.

“Right. Of Audrey and Audrey.”

“Yes, my girlfriend is the first and best Audrey.” She pointed over to the stands. “She’s not an official Hoebag, just a fan. You can call me plain Aud instead. Most of them do, when they aren’t trying to be cute.”

“How long have you and Audrey been together?” I asked.

“Two years.” She smacked her hand into her glove. “I wasn’t much for making things official, but it’s what she wants. You know, the whole U-haul bit.” She glanced back at the bleachers. “And I like to give her what she wants.”

U-hauls. I’d have to ask Fern about that later. “I think it’s great, all of you going together.”

Nikki lunged forward, slinging an arm around Aud and mussing her hair. “If we don’t kill each other!” She tilted her head toward Fern. “I see Zest brought a babe. You ready for a threesome?”

My mouth dropped open.

A girl with short ringlet hair pushed Nikki away from Aud. “No recruiting the straight girls,” she said, then held out her hand. “I’m Bella. Supposedly Nikki’s bride. IF she deserves me.”

“Aww. I’ll never deserve you. And the heteros are so fun to shock. You’re in for quite a ride in Cali,” Nikki said, laughing. She waved. “See ya later, Zest! You won’t be stuck here. They only give us one hour to play, and the winner is whoever’s ahead. Then I can teach you about strap ons.”

I hoped she wasn’t serious.

Bella threaded her arm through mine. “I’ll take you to the stands.”

We weaved through the other teams, many of them moving toward the fields. “You don’t play?” I asked.

“Oh, I do, but we rotate in and out.” She tugged her shorts down over her broad pale thighs as we sat on the metal stands, no doubt self-conscious next to Fern. Everyone felt secondary to Fern’s movie star looks. I had gotten used to it.

Bella pointed to a petite brunette next to her. “This is Audrey.”

“Audrey’s Audrey?” I asked.

“I am.” The woman extended her hand, reaching over a white Pomeranian in her lap.

“I guess I’ll be taking your picture,” I said.

“Oh, good. We hoped we could convince you to go.” She petted the dog.

“Who’s this?” Fern asked, patting the dog’s head. Fern hated animals, but now she moved in close, overly interested.

“It’s Butch,” Audrey said. “She belongs to Jenna. I watch her during the games.”

Butch! “A mascot?” I asked.

“There’s several,” Audrey said. “You’ll see them.”

The two teams met on the field for the coin toss.

“So how do you two know each other?” Audrey asked, pointing at me and Fern.

Fern angled toward us, one Mystic tanned knee crossed over the other, her pink sock and saddle shoe a blur as she twitched, a tick that I knew meant she actually felt a little unnerved.

“I’ll tell,” Fern said. “We dated the same boy our freshman year of college. I figured it out when I found a drawer full of pictures Zest had taken of them together. Some of them were of the same night he’d been with me, Halloween parties. Zest here had apparently gotten the early shift.”

“Fern called me,” I said. “We decided to get our revenge.”

“What did you do?” Audrey asked.

“We both told him we were pregnant on the same day,” Fern said. “Pink sticks and all.” She glanced around the other women. “Magic markers.”

The women erupted into laughter, making the Hoebags clustered near home base glance up.

I wished I had brought my camera. Three men and two women were striding across the field now, sharp in bright red shirts. More Hoebags.

“They allow men on the team?” I asked.

Audrey leaned forward, her hand on the white dog. “It’s all co-ed.”

“They don’t mind being called Hoebags?”

“They don’t complain,” Bella said. “We’re the league leaders.”

A stick-thin woman wearing red vinyl hot pants and a teensy red top walked in front of us. She led a Chihuahua adorned with a red Hoebag jersey.

“Wow, she’s a serious fan,” I said.

“She’s a he,” Fern said.

“A HE?”

“Shush!” Fern glared at me sternly.

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell,” Bella said.

Audrey shifted closer, hugging Butch. “Some people check for the Adam’s apple, but surgery can fix that. I look at the hands to be sure.”

“Hortie still has his own neck,” Bella said.

I touched my throat, my face probably flaming brighter than a Hoebag uniform. Fern elbowed me. “Gotta hone that gaydar, dearest,” she said.

“Working on it,” I mumbled. A bat cracked against a pitch, thankfully drawing everyone’s attention to the field.

Nikki stepped up to the plate, then turned to look at us. “Hey Homos! And non-homos!”

“What!” Bella yelled back.

“If I don’t hit this one home, I have to buy the straight girls a beer after the game.”

Audrey shouted back at her. “And if you do?”

“They have to kiss me!”

Oh shit. I glanced at Fern, who seemed amused. I clutched the rim of the bench as the first pitch went wide.

Fern laughed. “You look horror-struck.”

The bat cracked as Nikki pegged the ball, but the hit went foul.

“Don’t worry,” Bella said. “Nikki’s just a flirt. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Nikki swung again, this time connecting neatly with the ball, which headed to the outfield. She scrambled around the bases.

“Is she going to make it?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Bella said. “Here comes the ball.”

Nikki stopped at third base. She looked up into the stands and shrugged.

“Your virgin lips are safe,” Fern said.

“I’ll make her buy you that beer,” Bella said. “You will come to the pub after, right? Bradford will want to meet you. He’s handling all the wedding details.”

“Bradford of Brad’s Salon?” Fern asked.

“That’s the one,” Bella said. “So will you come?”

I’d had enough stress for one day. “Oh, we couldn’t possibly—”

“Miss it,” Fern finished. “We couldn’t possibly miss it.”

 “Awesome!” Bella said. “We go straight after the game.”

“If the straight girl is game,” Fern said.

“I’m game,” I answered. Like a one-winged duck during hunting season.

Chapter 8: Bottoms Up

I just wanted to show up at the pub, meet Bradford, get some information on the dresses, and escape unscathed. But as we neared the patio, I despaired. I had no idea how to handle the scene. Boys leaned on boys. Girls kissed. Hortie in her red vinyl had arranged herself dramatically along the fence rail, vying for attention.

I clung to Fern. “Don’t you dare desert me,” I warned.

She laughed. “You are out of your element, aren’t you?”

Bella waved madly. “Zest!” she shouted. “Over here!”

I swung beneath the beam of the wood fence surrounding the patio rather than walk around. I turned to Fern, who stood primly by a post.

“Coming?” I asked.

“You’re shorter than me.”

“You can’t duck?”

She continued to stand there, batting eyelashes like a 30s starlet into the crowd. I followed her line of sight to a tall dark-haired man in a chambray shirt, who finally noticed her distress. I walked toward Bella, shaking my head. That girl could flirt a spot off a dog.

The man crossed under the fence and picked Fern up, setting her easily on the other side.

“Does that one like girls, at least?” I asked Bella, not disguising my annoyance.

Bella threaded her arm though mine and led me over to the bar. “Actually, no. But she’ll figure it out when he asks her for a recommendation for face cream.”

I glanced back at Fern. She was talking frenetically to the man.

“Look who I found!” Bella called.

“The paparazzi!” Nikki shouted, hoisting a bottle in the air. “What’s your poison, straight girl? Fireman’s Four? Shiner?”

“Shiner’s good,” I said.

I stood there awkwardly, not daring to say a thing. Was lesbian even the right word? Or gay? What would they call themselves at the wedding? Partners? Brides? Civil union…ists? I longed for duct tape. Anything to keep me from opening my stupid mouth.

Nikki handed me a beer. I glanced back at Fern, who was fading into the distance, sitting on a rail with the boy. We approached a long table tucked in a dim corner of the patio, full of red Hoebag uniforms.

Mary passed an iPhone to Nikki. “You gotta watch this.”

Nikki took the small screen. “Uggh. Palin again? Spare me the conservative bitch-spawn.” She contorted her face into an expression of unadulterated disgust.

Mary frowned. “Somebody has to stand up for unborn children.”

Nikki looked at me apologetically and passed the iPhone back to Mary. “We’re more likely to convert Zest here to homo-ville than elect that conservative earwax as president.”

“Some people seem to think Obama consorts with terrorists,” Mary said.

“McCain IS a terrorist,” Nikki shot back.

Aud pulled away from Audrey. I hadn’t even seen them in the shadows, tightly entwined. “He’ll get the erectoral vote.”

Nikki nodded. “He and the other teabaggers.”

Mary huffed, scooting off the bench and walking away.

“My work here is done,” Nikki said. “I like to cause drama.” She kicked another woman, also in a Hoebag uniform, busily making out with another girl. “Get a U-Haul people. You’re making the heteros twitchy.”

As they pulled apart, I recognized Krieg. “Nikki! Just because you’re going straight to hell…”

“We’re all going to straight to hell,” Nikki said. “And it all begins on the trip to Cali.”

“Blitz here can’t wait,” Krieg said. “She always wanted a white wedding.”

Blitz growled and pulled her back into an embrace.

Mary returned. “Zest, you’ve gotta look at this.”

“Not another Palin thing,” Nikki asked.

Mary tilted the screen toward us. “No. Margaret Cho. The lesbian love boat. Thought Zest could use some education.”

Nikki took it. “Oooh! She’s perfect!” She winked at me. “Not that you need book-learnin’. But I have a feeling you don’t know many lesbians.”

She hit the triangle for play and cranked up the sound.

The woman on stage, dressed in hot pink, talked about her job as a comedian for a cruise ship where she went whale watching. The group all hooted with laughter. I had no idea why. Did they consider themselves fat? Wet? Slippery? I hung on every word.

Nikki stopped the video. “All women comedians are gay.”

Mary stood up straight. “What are you talking about?”

“Paula Poundstone is gay,” Nikki said.

Mary looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Sandra Berndhart is openly bi,” Nikki said.

The other women began talking at once.

“Rosie O’Donnell is gay,” Krieg said.

“Maggie Faris,” Nikki said.

“And Ellen Degeneres,” I said. Ha, a contribution!

Mary held out her hands to shush everyone. “Gilda Radner is straight. And Lucille Ball.”

“They had gay lovers,” Nikki said.

“What!” Mary shouted. “You can’t say that!

“I just did.” Nikki raised her beer in salute.

Mary seemed genuinely miffed. “Why does everyone have to be gay to you?”

Nikki grinned in the half-light. “So I have a better chance of sleeping with them.”

Everyone groaned.

Mary was not ready to give up the fight. “Kathy Griffin is straight.”

“Kathy Griffin is not straight,” Nikki countered. “She just has not come out yet.”

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “What evidence do you have of her gayness?”

Nikki shook her head. “I’m not going to say, because it’s mean.”

Jenna popped up behind Mary. “Julie Louise Dreyfus is straight.”

Nikki considered this. “She does standup?”

“She does.”

Nikki clearly wasn’t going to back down. “Let me tell you they have tendencies. They dabbled. They were a little gay.”

“So there is a scale of gay?” Mary asked. I was glad she asked. I was taking mental notes.

Nikki pulled Bella closer. “Sure. Your gay can go all the way or just a bit.”

Mary stepped close to Nikki, indignant. “MINNIE PEARL was straight!”

Nikki shook her head. “I’m telling you, if she is a police officer, a comedian, or works at Home Depot, then that’s a lean toward the gay side.” She turned to me. “You getting this?”

I nodded but didn’t dare utter a single word.

The women began arguing amongst themselves. Seeming satisfied with her rabble rousing, Nikki took my arm and led me away. “We should locate Bradford.”

I exhaled for the first time in four hundred minutes. “I do want to talk to him.”

“Everybody does. He’s too beautiful not to look at.”

We walked across the patio. Fern leaned against the rail, now surrounded by other women.

“She’s not bi, is she?” Nikki asked.

“Fern is like a universal remote. Anyone can push her buttons.”

Nikki nodded, thoughtful. “There’s Bradford.” She turned us to face the back fence line. A group of men were talking and laughing, beer bottles in hand, like you’d see at any bar. Some wore jerseys, the others plain button-down shirts and jeans. All were clean cut, short haired, a few sporting bits of facial hair, goatees or light moustaches.

Nikki lifted her beer in their direction. “That’s him, in the pinstripes. You’ll find yourself staring at his perfect mouth. Don’t worry, we all do it. If I were going to switch teams, he’d be the man. Not that he’d be interested in me.”

Bradford had an arm slung over another man’s shoulder and talked earnestly, gesturing broadly with his free hand. I couldn’t see his face, but his hair was clipped short, stylishly cut. His sideburns were a little longer than usual, but his face was otherwise clean.

We approached the group, and I felt another small wave of surprise when one of the men kissed another goodbye and they parted. How little I knew about these couples. Again I washed over with fear that I would say or do something stupid.