Chapter 23 #2
Stepping out of the bus station in San Francisco is an assault on Claire’s senses.
It’s loud, the air rent with bus engines and car horns and the laughter of a large group of teens across the street.
People pass her without a second glance—some are in suits, others in fashionable outfits of the kind that Jackie might wear.
Very few look anything like the people Claire knows in Acacia Circle.
The air smells like warm pavement and cigarettes and the slightest hint of urine. It’s new and bright and fast-paced.
It's all terribly exciting.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” drawls a voice to her right. Theo is leaned against the side of the building, dressed in fitted white pants and a violet striped shirt that stretches tight across his shoulders. “Suzy Homemaker, in the big bad city.”
At this point, it feels natural to run to him for a hug. He squeezes her tight, leaning back so that her toes leave the ground.
“You looked better on Halloween,” Theo says, setting Claire down to take in her clothes. “Did you take all those ugly dresses with you when you left your husband?”
“Only a few,” Claire says, grinning. She plucks at his collar. “Do you have any shirts that fit you properly?”
Theo gasps, but he sounds more delighted than anything. “Kitty has claws.”
“I learned from the best.”
Theo’s apartment is located over a Mexican restaurant, and on the way up he orders a quick supper.
She helps him carry the bags up the three flights of rickety stairs to his unit.
It’s small, but he’s clearly put so much effort into decorating it that it feels nice and homey, with worn furniture and a few big windows that look over the busy street.
The walls are hung with eclectic art and framed photos that Claire is sure are Jackie’s.
He seems to own just about every musical instrument Claire can imagine.
She drops her bag near the couch, next to an open case with a saxophone in it.
“I can’t believe I’ve never asked this,” Claire says, taking in the record collection that spans several stuffed bookshelves, “but are you a musician?”
“Composer, performer, occasional disc jockey, choose your poison,” Theo calls from the bedroom. “Get in here, I might have something for you to wear tonight.”
Claire finds him digging in the back of his closet to reveal an impressive collection of dresses. It’s less surprising than perhaps it should be.
“Some of these might fit you,” Theo says through a mouthful of their shared crunchy tacos.
“We need to get you out of those frumpy housewife uniforms. How about this?” He holds up a garment that Claire is sure would look stunning on Jackie.
It’s a rosy brown evening dress, made more pink by the shininess of the fabric.
The puffed skirt is scattered with a little black leaf pattern.
It has halter straps and a big bow over the chest, and it at least looks made for a bustline as small as Claire’s, assumedly because Theo is the one who wears it.
Claire bites her lip. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t want to wear that old thing to the bar, do you?” Theo says, waving his hand at Claire’s dress.
“No,” Claire says. She drifts towards Theo’s closet, but rather than thumbing through the dresses, she lingers on his regular wardrobe. She tugs at the long sleeve of a shirt, white fabric printed all over with a yellow sunflower pattern.
Slowly, Theo puts the dress back. Instead he takes out the shirt she’s looking at, grinning as he holds it up against her. “Interesting choice. I think it’ll fit, if you want to brave it.”
“Where we’re going tonight,” Claire says, taking the shirt from him, “will it be…people like us?”
Theo’s smile softens. Claire could swear that he looks a little bit proud of her. “Yeah. One of the safer places to be ourselves.”
Theo’s pants fit well enough if Claire wears a belt, though his shoes are so big that she has to wear several pairs of socks to keep them from coming off.
The shirt has a deep v collar when Claire puts it on, deep enough that it reminds Claire of the jumpsuits Jackie sometimes wears, and it means she can’t wear a brassiere without it poking out.
Instead she goes without, and Theo gives her a necklace to wear that sits just over her bare breastbone.
She ties her hair back into a low ponytail, not bothering to fuss with the curls that spring free.
Looking in the mirror, it feels as if she’s looking at whatever real self Jackie unleashed all those months ago. She’s not crammed into a tiny frame anymore. She’s not blending into the background. She’s ready to face the world.
The sun is starting to set when they hop on a trolley headed across town. It’s almost full, and Claire is only half-listening to Theo telling her all about the neighborhood they’re headed to as she takes it all in. She expected to feel like the odd one out, but not to this degree.
The bus is packed to the gills with the breadth of humanity. There are mothers and children. There are mixed couples, and men heading to night shift work. There are students who reek of their parents money, and people who look like they could use a good meal.
A group of young people crowd onto the car a few stops in, all dressed in what Pete would call hippie clothes, and one of the boys grins at her and flashes the peace sign as he passes.
He has a colorful bandana tied around his head, keeping his long hair in check, and his shirt has a big yellow sunflower on the front to match Claire’s.
Pete would have laughed in his face. But Claire isn’t with Pete. She’s out in the city, on her own, with her own money in her pocket. After a moment she grins, and makes a peace sign back.
The street they disembark on is bustling, but Theo cuts an easy path towards a nondescript brick building with a tall, flickering sign that says The Harbor.
She can hear pulsing music inside, and the small group of people passing around a cigarette outside the door all straighten up and shout when they see Theo.
Theo shouts back, speeding up his pace, and for a minute it’s all hugs and airy cheek-kisses between him and his friends.
“This is Claire,” Theo finally says once everyone has been greeted, pulling Claire forward by her lapel. “She’s new around here.”
“I’m LeAnn. Where ya from?” one of the women says.
It’s hard to see anyone’s features in the dim light, but she looks to have long, dark hair and a pretty face, and she’s wearing bright red lipstick.
Her accent says Boston, loud and clear. She looks oddly familiar, but Claire can’t imagine where she might have seen her before. “Let me guess: Midwest?”
“Sacramento. She and Jackie were cellmates in suburbia,” Theo says.
LeAnn nods, smiling at Claire. “Welcome to the club. We miss Jackie around here. How’s she doing?”
Claire wishes more than anything that she could answer that question. Thankfully, Theo comes to the rescue.
“She’s having a New Years Eve bash. She’s inviting everyone out to come rustle some suburban feathers,” Theo says, accepting the shared cigarette from someone whose gender Claire can’t quite parse and taking a long drag. “You should see if you can make it.”
They all assure Theo they’ll see about coming, before heading back inside. Claire moves to follow, but Theo stops her with a touch to the wrist.
“You’re invited too, you know,” he says.
Claire bites at the inside of her cheek. She’s quite sure that she isn’t invited, actually, but Theo moves past her quickly, and she follows him inside.
The bar is so dark that at first Claire can barely see where she’s going.
She’s already lost track of Theo’s friends, and she’s only sure of Theo’s location because his shirt seems to glow under the occasional strobe lights.
What she can see, though, is that the dance floor is packed.
It’s a crush of people, all dancing to the shabby jukebox in a way she’s never seen before.
They’re all pressed close together, moving in swinging, grinding motions. Big, unselfconscious movements.
Theo hands her a drink, but she’s too busy trying to take everything in to take a sip.
The woman behind the bar is built like a brick house, and dressed entirely in men’s clothing.
She has a buzz cut, two thick arms full of tattoos, and a very comforting energy.
There’s a stage at the far end of the room, where currently several people are putting on some kind of performance—their hands are whirling around their faces in controlled but totally unpredictable ways.
It reminds Claire of the ocean videos she once watched back in school.
The camera had lingered at first over the calm and familiar sea surface before dipping underneath to reveal the vibrant chaos hidden in the reef.
This bar is teeming with life in the same way.
Strange, beautiful creatures drift past on the current of the music, and Claire isn’t in a submarine or in front of a television. She’s part of it.
Theo seems to know everyone. Claire half-expects each person she meets to know that she doesn’t belong here, but they’re all unbelievably kind.
When they hear she’s new to all of this, they congratulate her on her bravery.
They buy her drinks that she can’t finish fast enough.
They pull her to the dance floor to lose her inhibitions among the sweaty mass of people.
It’s a sense of belonging like she’s never felt before.
For once she’s not the tallest, not the loudest, not the oddest person in the room.
She even catches a few women looking at her with what Theo calls bedroom eyes.
Even if Claire has no idea how a courtship might go with a woman, it’s exhilarating to feel like an object of desire, rather than just a receptacle.
The women who look at her are beautiful.
Claire can almost imagine herself dancing with them.