She's With Me (2 page)

*~*~*

It seemed like Izzy would never answer her phone, and Meeka never knew what to say to voicemail messages. Especially not now. Face it, Izzy was probably avoiding her, and Meeka didn't know whether to wish she could remember what for or be glad she couldn't. She was standing in front of the freezer, contemplating the pros and cons of butter-pecan ice cream, when her phone rang. It was Izzy. Meeka nearly dropped it.

"Oh, hey, it looks like I missed a bunch of calls from you," said Izzy with a self-deprecating laugh. "I left my phone in my pants, and I couldn't hear it ring in the laundry pile. Sorry."

"It's, um, it's all right." Meeka let the freezer door swing closed and winced at the glare of late-morning light it let suddenly into her eyes. She was half annoyed at Izzy for being so cheerful and blasé about it all, when Meeka had been fretting herself sick and had a filthy headache to boot, and half annoyed at herself for being so cheerful just because Izzy wasn't mad at her after all.

"What's up?"

"Um." Meeka bit her lip and found it as sore as if she'd had a marathon kissing session the night before. She'd have remembered that, wouldn't she? "Last night—I didn't, like, start doing a striptease at the bar?"

Izzy's giggle-snorts came through the tinny speakers at full volume, and Meeka had to hold the phone away from her ear. Usually Izzy's laugh gave Meeka squirmy feelings in the pit of her stomach, but right now those were joined by a good dose of nausea. Was that a
no
laugh or a
yes
laugh?

"No, no, nothing like that," Izzy assured her as soon as she could talk. "I mean, you took off your jacket and shoes, but that's it."

"My shoes?" That sparked a sudden, vivid memory of Izzy's voice, honey-thick and sexy, with a matter-of-fact, clipped-off edge to it that made Meeka's toes curl again now. "Didn't you...?" Meeka felt herself go very red and didn't finish the thought aloud. She had already been drunk by that point; Izzy couldn't have meant what it had felt like she'd meant. Meeka didn't even know what that was.

"Hey." All the teasing had gone out of Izzy's voice. "You were fine, right? You didn't do anything embarrassing. You were really, really... fine."

Meeka nodded, knowing Izzy couldn't see it but unable for a moment to speak. She didn't ask,
Did I come on to you?
She knew better by now than to come on to straight friends. Respected herself more than that. "God, I need to get laid," she said aloud.

There was silence from the other end of the phone for a few seconds. "Right," said Izzy decisively. "All right. We are going to get you laid."

"What?" Meeka squeaked.

"If you have any plans for today, cancel them. I will be over in..." There was a short, humming pause. "Twenty minutes. I may be bringing hair dye."

"
Oh.
" Meeka laughed, meaning to tell Izzy she didn't need a makeover—that wasn't the problem—when she stopped and thought again. Izzy dressing her up like a doll—
Put this on, Meeka. Take that off, Meeka.
Izzy giving her that short, approving nod.
Good girl.
Izzy looking at her like she was pretty. Yeah, Meeka could make time in her schedule for that. "Oh, okay," she said.

Izzy hung up without so much as good-bye, and Meeka stood for several more seconds staring at the phone with hearts in her eyes. A nagging little voice at the back of her head told her to get a hold on herself and act like an adult, but that wasn't the sort of voice Meeka usually listened to, and she wasn't about to start now. She went back to her bedroom and flung open her closet. What did you wear to a makeover?

That was how Izzy found her, twenty minutes later on the nose, shopping bags dangling from both arms. Meeka had taken a few things out of the closet and flung them onto the bed, but she hadn't changed in the end from the same skirt and sweater she'd worn to the bar the night before. And gone to sleep in, apparently, along with her jacket and stockings. Those, at least, she'd managed to get out of before Izzy came in.

"Starting the party without me, I see," said Izzy, dumping the bags on the bed on top of the scattered clothes. She picked up a pair of pink yoga pants and frowned at them accusingly. "Hm."

Meeka shrugged self-consciously, stealing a glance at Izzy through lowered eyelashes while she did. And Izzy was looking at her chest. Meeka didn't know what to make of it, but Izzy was definitely looking.

Izzy made a scrubbing motion on the front of her own shirt. "You've still got—some stuff on your sweater. That'll have to come off."

This was what Meeka had signed up for. There was no point in hesitating. She pulled the sweater over her head, grateful for the few seconds it hid her face, wishing things could be as easy as the night before. No thinking, just listening. Then she tossed the shirt on the bed beside her, and Izzy's face was shining with wicked glee. It was worth it to do this sober. Meeka wanted to remember it.

"The skirt, too. Let's see what we've got to work with."

Meeka started wiggling out of her skirt—and damn it, she was biting her lip again. Was that how it had gotten so sore? With a deliberate effort, she composed her face and stood up in her bra and underpants. Granny panties, plain and functional, but they were clean and they didn't have holes. At least Meeka thought not. She tried to look over her shoulder and unobtrusively examine the waistband, when the absurdity of it all struck her and she sat down hard on the bed, her hair falling forward over her face as she collapsed in a fit of helpless giggles.

"Something you want to share with the class?" Izzy was standing over her, combing her hair back with her fingers. "No hiding behind your hair if you want to keep it."

"Sorry," Meeka gasped. "Sorry, it's just—I don't even know. Are you really...?" She twined a lock of hair around her fingers, and her voice came out smaller than she'd meant it to. "Are you really going to get rid of my hair?"

Izzy scooted up behind Meeka on the bed and got a brush out of one of the bags. She had a surprisingly gentle way with a hairbrush, maybe because her own hair was so curly and she'd learned to be careful of it. All Meeka knew was that it only took a couple of strokes before her eyelids got heavy and she was practically purring.

"Mm," said Izzy, running Meeka's hair through her fingers thoughtfully. "We do want to open up your face a little more, you know? You've got good cheekbones and cute little ears; it'd be a shame not to let them show. Maybe bangs. I'd leave it a little longer here, but not
too
long." Izzy's nails grazed the side of Meeka's face: temple, cheek, jaw. Meeka tried not to laugh, or snuggle back against Izzy too obviously.

"Jo let me in on her way out; do you know when you're expecting her back?" Meeka, dazed, tried to remember who her roommate was or why Izzy should be asking about her. "She's not gonna be walking in on us, is she?" Izzy went on, her voice a low buzz by Meeka's ear.

"Oh! Um, she has a shift... at the bookshop... so, no?"
Walking in on us doing what?

"Good!" Izzy scooped up a couple of her bags and started for the bathroom. Meeka trailed after her. "I'm not going to cut your hair on your bed!" Izzy called over her shoulder.

It took a little trial and error to find the right position—and Meeka fell into giggles again at the way she'd phrased the thought—but finally Izzy had Meeka perch on the side of the tub in front of the mirror while she plied her shiny, sharp scissors. Meeka looked at herself in the mirror, at Izzy hovering at her shoulder or her back, at the snips of hair falling away. It was uncomfortable. And hot. Meeka saw as well as felt the blush starting to creep up her neck and tried to turn away in embarrassment, but Izzy took hold of her chin and said, "Hold still."

Meeka gripped the edge of the tub tightly, and made a noise she didn't know she could make—a sort of whine deep in her chest. Izzy kept cutting.

When that was done, Izzy got out gloves and bleach and the promised hair dye and put in some turquoise streaks, saying something about accents and the shape of Meeka's face or whatever. Meeka sat until her butt was sore, rinsed and dried her hair and put on the clothes Izzy had in her bags. The skirt was tight enough that she nearly balked, but all her other clothes were in her bedroom, and Izzy was standing between her and it with a determined look in her eye. The shirt was loose and flowy and decorated with pretty floral embroidery. It was only when Meeka glanced at the mirror again that she saw how sheer the fabric was, and how low the neckline plunged.

"Nice," said Izzy, coming up behind her with a brush again. She did Meeka's hair in two neat braids that just brushed her shoulder blades. "There," she added with a final tug on one of the braids. "Now you've got nowhere to hide."

Meeka ducked her head experimentally. The longer bangs towards the sides of her face fell forwards, but they didn't have the weight she was used to, and they did nothing to obscure the sight of Izzy grinning back at her beyond the strands of brown and blue.

The front door of the apartment slammed. Was that Jo back already? How long had they been at this? "I think we'd better vacate the bathroom," said Izzy.

"Oh, um," said Meeka, tugging at the hem of her skirt.

Izzy laughed. "Don't worry, you look great. Ask Jo if you don't believe me. Or I will if you're too shy."

"Wait—" said Meeka, but Izzy had already flung open the bathroom door, leaned out, and shouted, "Hey, Jo!"

She heard the sound of Jo's bag thumping down on the coffee table. "Hey, Izzy. I'm not deaf. Or I wasn't. What's up?"

Meeka pressed up against the bathroom tiles and tried to meld into them by sheer force of will. Unfortunately, willpower wasn't Meeka's strong point, as the last couple of days had demonstrated pretty well. She was obviously visible when Izzy came back in a second later, with Jo right behind her. Damn it, Jo was looking at Meeka's breasts, too. Jo never looked at anything; sometimes she absentmindedly walked into door frames.

"Pretty good, huh?" said Izzy.

"Wow," said Jo.

"It'd be better if she wasn't all scrunched up in the corner like that, though. Come on, Meeka, show her."

Meeka had given up pulling at her skirt and had her arms crossed, equally ineffectually, across her belly. "Izzy," she said through her teeth, "I am going to—"

"Yes?" said Izzy. Unruffled, comfortable in jeans and a plain black top, gorgeous.

Without thinking, Meeka stepped away from the wall, her arms held slightly out to the sides. It felt like diving, or flying. She did a slow turn and heard Jo's breath catch in appreciation.

"Lovely," murmured Izzy. "I think we're ready to go dancing."

*~*~*

At least one of them was going to get laid this weekend. That was the idea, right? Izzy had promised Meeka, and besides, she felt—it was dumb, probably, the same feeling that had made her tuck Meeka into bed last night.

And hell, it wasn't like it was going to be that difficult. In the back of Meeka's closet, Izzy had found a pair of knee-high boots with three-inch heels, probably the most Meeka could manage while dancing. At least, without—and Izzy smiled at the mental image—without more practice. Lots of practice, in higher heels, Meeka stumbling at first, but then getting better, giving Izzy that little glance from beneath her bangs, waiting for her approval.

Here and now, Meeka was steady enough on her boots, and the occasional wobble when she set a foot down wrong or hit a slick patch of sidewalk was very appealing, even if her body language was closed-in, self-conscious, and not at all ready to grab on to Izzy for support. But she'd agreed to go out in the new clothes—now covered up by a wool coat, alas—and the new hairstyle. Not that she'd have had too much trouble getting laid with the old clothes and the old hairstyle, but now she was going to have to fight the girls off with a stick.

And if Izzy wasn't going to solve her own problem at a no-boys-allowed dance club, at least she'd have the satisfaction of being a good wing-woman and of seeing the rest of the world's reaction to her work. Also, Izzy reluctantly admitted to herself, she wanted to test her own reactions. She wasn't some sort of repressed virgin, or a bible-study groupie afraid of gay cooties, and she'd thought she'd known as much about her sexuality as there was to know. But nothing about what had happened last night or today added up, unless Izzy considered the possibility that she wanted to fuck Meeka's brains out.

They ducked under the awning of the club, and Izzy tested her hypothesis by surreptitiously checking out the woman who waved them in. Tall, with short blonde hair, a halter top showing off the clean lines of her back. She was attractive enough in an angular way, but she wasn't doing anything for Izzy. Was Meeka looking, her eye caught by the bright stud in the woman's belly button? Meeka could never resist shiny things. But ogling the bouncer wasn't going to get them any closer to their goal, so Izzy grabbed Meeka's hand and pulled her into the coatroom.

They almost collided with a couple of girls making out just inside the door. It was dark, so Izzy couldn't really continue her investigations into how cute she now found girls, and in any case they seemed pretty taken with each other. One of them had the other pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in her hair—okay, that was a little hot. But the way Meeka looked at them and then looked away, with her eyes downcast and shoulders pulled inwards in embarrassment—that was hotter than hell.

Izzy hung up her jacket, then turned back to coax Meeka's coat off her shoulders, chivalrous-boyfriend style. Plus, left to her own devices Meeka might have stood dithering there for hours with the coat half-off. Izzy squeezed her shoulder encouragingly and Meeka gave a little jump. "Come on," said Izzy. "It's time to knock them dead."

Meeka laughed, seeming self-conscious but pleased. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Izzy assured her.

As they got closer to the dance floor, and the music got louder, Meeka forgot her shyness. Her arms started to swing and her strides got longer, heels clicking on the floor in time with the beat, the streaks in her hair glowing under the ultraviolet lights. Izzy did her best to fade into the background and watched as a girl in a purple corset, motorcycle boots, and way too much black eyeliner came over and tried to get Meeka to dance.