Heather was in a room full of women. The music seemed loud enough to shake the pictures on the walls, and Heather wasn't sure how long she could stand it. She liked music, but this was more horrendous noise than music, and she was certain she could feel the vibrations in her teeth.
Butches were all over the place, wide, narrow, tall, and short. Three butches for every femme, and of course the femmes loved it, and Heather told herself she ought to love it too, but she had real competition here, and she was still torn up about Gina. Oh Gina. Where was Gina now? In San Diego, maybe. So Heather had come here to forget Gina (better than being alone, wasn't it?), put on lipstick and a dress and heels and told herself what she needed was to be with someone tonight. Not just anyone, but someone who could make her feel good about herself again. But this party was so crowded, so awfully noisy, so unlike her, she was beginning to think this was merely another one of her silly mistakes.
She watched the women who were dancing, the jiggling breasts, the sweat on their faces. Some of them looked strung out on dope or liquor. The smell of tobacco smoke was everywhere, a gray cloud of it at the far edge of the room.
She finally maneuvered her way to a bathroom. She passed two women in the hall clutching each other in a heavy kiss. Heather ignored them, waited her turn, and soon found herself with the door locked and her face staring back at her from the grimy mirror over the sink.
She opened her purse, removed a toothbrush and toothpaste, and brushed her teeth. After she finished, she felt silly about it, but she also felt refreshed. Silly, silly, she thought. Heather, you're a silly girl.
Outside the bathroom, she ran into Jan. Old friend Jan. Old lover Jan.
"Guess who's here?" Jan said.
"Who?"
"Mary Corcoran."
"You're kidding me."
"I'm not kidding you. She's back there in one of the rooms. She happens to be Bobbi Reilly's cousin. Don't faint with excitement."
"I'm already there. Corky? Jan, if you're lying to me, I'll kill you."
"Go look."
And Heather hurried to look. Mary Corcoran, the tennis star, Corky to the world, was Heather's idea of the sexiest lesbian alive.
Heather found her in one of the smaller rooms, this one as crowded and as smoky as all the others, but this one filled with women who all seemed to be salivating as they milled around a blonde leaning against one of the walls.
Heather was thrilled. She watched Corky's every move. Corky was tall, lean, strong, blonde. Like a Viking. Damn it, I'm wetting my pants, Heather thought. Corky seemed bathed in a golden light.
Then suddenly their eyes met. As Heather stood staring at her, Corky looking across the small room and their eyes met. Corky stared back. Heather was far enough back so Corky could see all of her, and Heather blushed as she saw Corky's eyes drop down and then up again.
Too much, Heather thought. I'm shaking. Or maybe the house was shaking. She could not take it any more, and she turned and hurried out of the room. One more second in there and she was certain she'd make a fool of herself.
She found the largest room, the noisiest room where the women were dancing and the music still blaring loud enough to vibrate the floor-boards. She found a drink, found an empty spot against the wall, and she settled in to cogitate, to digest what had happened in the other room, the way Corky had looked at her.
"You ran away," a voice beside her said.
Heather turned, looked, and was instantly dumbfounded. Corky stood there, gazing at Heather with fixed blue eyes.
Heather blushed. "You're Mary Corcoran."
Her face was so tan, her blonde hair almost white.
"Dance with me," Corky said. "I'm getting bored just standing around."
