We were drunk, my best friend Liz and I. No, we were beyond drunk. We were completely shit-faced, to use the vernacular. We sprawled side by side on the sofa in my apartment giggling at nothing.
“Do you remember that little pinch faced girl that wanted you so bad our last semester?” Liz asked me. He face was flushed and tears leaked from her eyes as she laughed harder. “The one who looked like she had just sucked a green persimmon?”
I tried to think through the liquor haze and came up with a name.
“You mean Bessie?!” I tried to act indignant as she giggled harder. “Hey, I could’ve married that girl!!”
“Get’em up Bessie.” She called out in a fake Southwest accent. “Yehaww!”
I couldn’t help but laugh too. Bessie Mason, that had been her name. She had followed me around like a stray puppy trying to get my attention. I tried everything I could think of to get her to understand that she just wasn’t my type. That was when Liz had come up with the perfect plan. We would pretend to be a couple. She had been dating another in a long line of total losers who took her for granted. She thought it would be fun to make him think she had ‘turned lesbian’, as she put it.
So we spent the rest of our senior year in college as a ‘couple’. We shared an apartment then, so it was perfect. We went on ‘dates’, did our shopping together, held hands in public and even gave a few fairly passable imitations of passionate kisses in public places. Word gets around in a small college town and soon my persistent suitor moved on to greener pastures. Liz's loser never even seemed to notice she had a new ‘love interest.’ She really could pick them, my Liz. Users, losers and abusers. That was her dating repertoire.
It seemed that her plan had no flaws, and we had carried it off well. There was only one small problem. My heart didn’t receive the memo that we were faking it. That last semester of our senior year I fell completely and irrevocably in love with my best friend, a straight girl.
I hid it well. We graduated and set off into the wide world to make our fortunes. She went her way and I went mine. She just didn’t know that she took my heart with her. I landed a great job in Portland, my home town, and I began living the lesbian dream. I had a nice car, a lovely apartment with a great view of the city lights at night. I went out and mingled in the local ‘scene’ and began to date. I dated a lot. I’m not saying that to brag, it’s a rather sad thing really. I rarely dated the same woman more than twice and I had my fair share of one night stands. My heart just wasn’t in it. My heart was in L.A. where Liz had gone after graduation.
We kept in touch over the next two years, through long phone calls, emails, chats on instant messenger. She called me to tell me about her engagement and impending marriage, at which she wanted me to be the maid of honor. I agreed enthusiastically, as any good friend would, then went out and got myself so drunk I don’t remember how I got home or why there was a woman in my bed who vaguely reminded me of Liz. Then I went out and celebrated when the whole thing was called off because she caught the intended groom in a compromising position with his office assistant.
When she had called in tears over her last romantic fiasco and asked if she could visit for a few days I hadn’t even hesitated. That’s what friends do, even when one is in love with the other and she doesn’t know it.
Now here she sat in the flesh, and she was as beautiful as I remembered. Her dark hair was longer, falling in a jumble of curls around her shoulders, and her figure had gotten just a bit curvier. Her blue eyes twinkled with the same mischief as always, and my heart did drunken flip flops of delight.
“What about that guy you dated...what was his name?” I waved my hand in a circle trying to conjure the answer to my question. Liz giggled madly.
“Which one?!?! I dated a lot of guys!”
“Yes you did! Slut!” We fell against each other in a fresh burst of laughter. “I know! Michael, not Mike, not Mick…’My name is Michael’.”
Liz laughed hysterically in recognition of my pitifully nasal imitation of one of her conquests during her ‘I need to catch a rich husband’ phase. That had ended badly for her as well.
A silence fell between us. One of those comfortable kinds that happens between good friends. I let my head fall back on the sofa and closed my eyes. It was good to have Liz here, just like old times. I felt her hand close over mine and turned my head to look at her through bleary eyes.
“You know, you’re a great catch, why don’t you have someone?” She said softly. She had turned sideways to face me and laid her head on the back of the sofa close to mine. I could barely breathe, but I knew this phase. We were entering the phase of the philosophical drunk, best to be avoided to spare embarrassment upon sobering up. Of course the curse of the philosophical drunk phase is lack of the ability to keep one’s mouth shut.
“Because I’m in love with someone I can’t have.”
“Oh.” Liz nodded sagely, “Is she married?”
“Not unless you forgot to invite me to your wedding.” I watched my answer swirl around Liz’s mind as she drunkenly contemplated it.
“Me?? But we’re best friends!”
And I had thought this was an intelligent woman. From somewhere anger bubbled up in me. Anger that she couldn’t see me as more than a friend, anger that my heart couldn’t let her go so I could get on with my life. I reached over and cupped her face in my hands holding her tight when she squirmed and giggled. Then I kissed her.
I kissed her with all the repressed passion I had felt for over two years. I crushed her lips under mine until they parted. My tongue slid into the warmth of her mouth and I thought I would cry at her sweetness. When I felt her tongue dart shyly against my own I drew back and stared at her in surprise. She had her eyes closed and she was breathing heavily. Her eyes fluttered open and the hunger I saw there was nearly more than I could take.
“Don’t stop.” She whispered. Her hands reached for me but I jumped to my feet and stepped back. “Jen, please…I…I want you.”
“You’re drunk, Liz.” I shook my head trying to clear it. “Hell, we’re both drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying and I have said too much as it is.”