The following entertainment is for adults only, and anyone not an adult is hereby warned to go away.
* * * * *
So far the convention is ordinary, and beginning to be boring. It's the end of the afternoon, the large room only half filled, a dozing crowd. Nearly all of them are physicians, medical people from various places, even a few Europeans, although this is primarily an American meeting.
I've had my eyes on two women in the row in front of me. They seem to be a couple. The older one is a brunette, the younger one with long blonde hair. The blonde reminds me of Cassie, and every time I look at this blonde in the row in front of me I think of a time with Cassie, a hot time with Cassie in my arms. One can't help thinking. I tell myself I'm exonerated. How can I help not think about Cassie?
At the end of this paper, when the applause is finished, I rise to ask a short question. Nothing confrontational. Mere information. Almost trivial. When I sit down again, both women in the row in front of me turn to look at me. We exchange glances. Friendly eyes. Yes, these two women are definitely a couple. And I'm envious because I'm alone.
I leave the meeting afterward, and in the early evening, bathed and refreshed, I decide to have dinner at one of the hotel restaurants. I hate sitting alone in a restaurant, but it's much better than eating alone in a plastic hotel room.
As I enter the small restaurant, I notice the two women who were at the meeting with me in the afternoon. They notice me as I wait for the restaurant hostess, and the older woman gestures to an empty chair at their table. An invitation to join them. When the hostess arrives, I say: "Some people I know are over there, and I'd like to sit with them."
The hostess nods, picks up a large menu, and escorts me to the table.
The two women smile at me as I sit down, and I say: "This is awfully nice of you. I'm Gwen."
And so we meet. The older woman is Melanie, the younger one Denise. We talk about the meeting as we choose dinner. Like myself, Melanie is an endocrinologist. She practices in Minneapolis, and Denise is her office assistant. Not a usual pairing at a medical convention, of course, but it's quite obvious to me that at least Melanie is gay, and when I learn they live together everything is explained. Denise always travels with Melanie. How convenient. I'm envious of Melanie, desperately envious because Denise is so attractive.
We talk about other medical meetings, other conventions. Melanie mentions a women's music festival. "Have you ever attended one of those?"
"Oh yes," I say. "I've been to a few."
"I love music festivals," Melanie says. Then she adds: "I mean women only festivals."
I'm amused. "Oh, I know what you mean."
Melanie gives me a significant look and says: "I told you, Denise."
Denise nods. "Yes, you did."
So now the fact that all three of us are gay is out in the open. My envy grows as the dinner progresses because they seem so well-suited to each other in an obviously polarized relationship. Melanie is apparently the top, and this becomes even more apparent when she says:
"Denise was talking about you after the meeting. Weren't you, Denise?"
Denise blushes. She has such long eyelashes. Exquisite. "Yes," Denise says.
Melanie directs: "Tell Gwen what you said."