Chapter 14 Comfortable
COMFORTABLE
LEAH
Ileft the shower the following morning to find Lourdes wandering in a sheet.
“So, is this the queer version of a rom-com or are you just trying to be a ghost?” I asked.
Lourdes turned, eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” I giggled.
“I didn’t have clothes.”
“Well, I’ve touched just about every inch of you, so you needn’t be too precious about me seeing you naked.”
“You have a flat mate.”
“He knows you are here. He doesn’t just enter my room whenever he wants, Lourdes. You’re safe.”
I found her expression utterly confounding. The sex last night was S-tier. We’d fallen asleep cuddling. I thought I’d finally cracked the all-too-serious nut that was Lourdes Lennon.
“Leah, where is my dress? I swore I dropped it here but—”
I nodded at the direction of the chair by the window. “It’s over there. I picked it up so you couldn’t grouch at me about being messy.”
“I do not grouch at you—”
“I once left a plate in front of me too long and you assumed I wouldn’t bus it myself. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want to do the walk of shame in that and we have call time in ninety minutes. Given where you live, I thought we could just get some food, and I could lend you some clothes.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “I will never make it home and back in traffic. I’m not a girl with a rich daddy and a nice address.”
I snickered. “It’s Brian’s address, not mine. I literally just crash here and he doesn’t charge me rent because he hates being lonely.”
She shook her head. “You all have your own thing.”
“He’s the big brother I never had and my coffee pal. Don’t judge.”
She laughed. “I won’t. Now, give me some actual jeans or something. None of those tiny-ass shorts you wear.”
“This time of year? No!”
I filed through the closet, sorting through my leggings drawer.
“Of course you have a walk-in wardrobe,” Lourdes groaned.
I grabbed a pair of black leggings, then a yoga bra and began to sort through one of my drawers of underwear.
“I can just go commando,” she said. “You don’t—”
“Here,” I tossed her a thong. “I haven’t worn it. I don’t really care. Just take it. Don’t feel the need to return it.”
“Do you often just stockpile underwear?”
“I have an underwear buying issue,” I answered. “I got into an expensive shop and somehow leave with twelve pairs of panties. Don’t judge.”
She pulled on the clothes. “Do I not get a shirt or do you just want an excuse to make fun of how this bra just hangs off of me.”
“I am sorry my tits are too big, Lou.”
“Never apologize,” Lou snickered.
I filed through my t-shirts. “What about the Roughy family reunion?”
“First of all, that shirt only fits a child, Leah. Second of all, why did you make shirts for a family gathering?”
“Do you all not make shirts when you do family trips?”
Lourdes narrowed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “No. I cannot believe you bloody well asked me that!”
“Well, fine. I thought it was cute. I also wore it when I was a child, but I like the shirt.” I continued. “What about this one?”
She shook her head. “Chicago Pride?”
“Like the celebration? Yes. My Dad emceed. I got a free shirt.”
Lourdes sighed loudly. “Do you have any normal shirts that don’t scream pride parade or family reunion?”
“I have two looks—rotting on my couch and evening gown. You know this, Lou. And I was raised by drag queens. Haven’t you been reading the papers for the last twenty years?”
Lourdes giggled. “That is true. I do remember a story or two.”
“Vultures!” I shook my head. “There were drag queens, but I was, instead, raised by men who are very bad at makeup. So, I wish the drag queens had more influence.”
Lourdes sorted through my rack of shirts, then declared. “This one. It’s simple.”
She chose a pink shirt that said, “First Sopranos: We Get High.”
“Cute. That is a personal fave.”
She started to put it back, “I don’t have to—”
I stopped her. “No. I’d like you to have it. Take it. At some point in the future, wear it with no bra and we’ll call it even.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It was a gag gift in college, but… it would look good on you.”
She pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head. Now, she was back to comfortable.
“You’re going to have to wear the pumps you had on because I know my shoes won’t fit you,” I said. “Hopefully that’s not a dealbreaker. Or do you only date girls in your shoe size?”
She shook her head. “No. I would be very limited, indeed, if I did that. I should let you get changed.”
“It’s fine. You’ve seen me naked plenty. And last night—”
“Last night wasn’t a quick change, but some people… get nervous.”
I dropped my robe casually and turned to my drawer of panties. “I would honestly be okay living in the nude, but everyone would have an aneurism.”
I pulled on a bra and a pair of pink leggings. “You just gonna stand there and stare?”
“Am I not allowed to, darling?”
“No. I really don’t mind but we cannot get waylaid. Sorry. That’s just facts. If I don’t eat something, I’m gonna fucking vom.” I pulled on a grey crop top. “Can you call a cab while I dry my hair?”
“Sure,” she agreed.
I pulled her close as I passed, hands on her waist possessively. “I really wish we had more time.”
She kissed me. “Me, too. But we don’t. Matinees and other bullshit.”
I dried my hair as fast as I could, stumbling around my bathroom. Hair dry enough, I emerged.
“I saw Brian,” Lou said. “He said he was going to Casablanca. We could go there—”
“No. Let’s grab lunch at that French café you love,” I said.
“But you said their soup was mid-at-best.”
“For you, I’m okay with that,” I assured.
She looked at her phone. “Cab’s downstairs.”
“Great,” I agreed.
We boarded the cab and sped towards our destination.
“I want to take you out to a proper dinner,” I said. “Not a cheeky curry. Not a quick lunch, but an actual proper dinner.”
I expected it would perk her up, but Lourdes looked down at her hands.
“What? Now I’m not good enough to be seen with? Before you were worried I was a commitmentaphobe and now—”
Lourdes put her hand on me knee to steady me. “It’s not that. It’s that… the stakes for you and I differ.”
I cocked my head. “How so?”
“I have casting directors to think of. It’s one thing if theater people know I like women.
It’s another thing if across an ocean someone in Hollywood knows I’m falling for my annoyingly talented ginger costar.
No one would believe I could play opposite a man.
My agent is trying so hard to get me those roles, Leah.
And as much as I wish I could say more… I can’t. ”
I pulled my hand back. “Lou, that feels like a cop out.”
“It’s reality. They see us together, think I’m too butch to be credible, and—”
“Lourdes, you are so femme. And, either way, we have both been with men. And even if we hadn’t, we could still play straight roles. We are actors. That’s our job.”
Lourdes looked out. “You know it isn’t that simple.”
“For me it is.” I crossed my arms and did the same.
“Your Dad,” Lou said. “Everyone just describes him as gay. You called me out on it. He dated women, but now he’s with a man and he’s the gay one, right?”
I shrugged. “Perhaps?”
“No matter who I love, I cannot risk that. And in a few months, you’ll be back in the States with top billing still dancing your arse off and… I just need to make this work.”
“Is that what you want, though? To be closeted in Hollywood?”
Lourdes shook her head. “No, but I live in reality and I have to make money. I’m hot right now. My agent is confident. And he tells me if I want to make more, I have to cross over into film. I need to land those roles while I’m still young enough to do so.”
My face fell.
“It doesn’t mean we can’t date, Leah,” Lourdes explained. “It just means… we have to be sensible about it.”
Sensible. I hated that. Deep down, I knew Lourdes wasn’t wrong, so I let it go, but I loathed that I couldn’t just take her out to dinner without a backup story.
I wanted to share things with her—romantic, sweet, sappy things—that I couldn’t if she wouldn’t even date me.
The new relationship energy bubbled, but I couldn’t do anything with it.