8. The Bookstore
The Bookstore
BETTY
Iwas confused when the band suggested we go to a bookstore for a bit of an afterparty, but soon realized it wasn’t actually a bookstore—at least not completely.
We ended up in a neighborhood I’d never seen.
I was embarrassed that apart from the poshest places in London, hitting Dalston felt like taking a risk.
When we arrived, we entered through a bookstore.
To the left was a cafe closed for the night.
Music pumped from below our feet. And as I followed the band downstairs, a club unveiled—one like I’d never been in.
I suddenly realized why the drummer complained so much.
He was vastly outnumbered. Women mingled in droves, while men were few and far in between. I’d never seen anything like it.
“What? You haven’t heard about this place?” Mary laughed.
“Oh, darling, how not? I think it’s the last bar around,” Clarice laughed.
“She’s a baby,” Alicia chimed. “But how hasn’t Leah dropped the hint. Or do people your age never go to gay bars?”
“I… I’ve been to gay bars before,” I admitted, puffing my chest. “But I expected… a bookstore.”
Was I out of my depth? Perhaps. It was true that I ventured into a gay bar or two with friends, but not a bar for queer women.
I never felt like I belonged. I wasn’t out nor read as queer.
As Mary waved me to the bar, I followed.
If I was here, I wasn’t running—not yet.
I settled in by her and realized no one cared.
I wasn’t unwelcome. I was just one of the girls.
“What are you drinking?” Mary asked.
“What’s good?”
“It’s not posh,” she laughed. “Beer. You like beer, right?”
“An IPA?” I asked, surprised she remembered or at least guessed accurately.
“Two of the Juicy Goss,” Mary called to the surly-looking woman over the bar.
She nodded and turned without a word. I worried we bothered her.
Mary pulled her wallet and put a card on the bar top before I even opened my purse.
Panicked, I said, “I can—”
“Nah,” Mary insisted. “I owe Leah a debt right now. She got us into a performance showcase at the Royal Albert Hall. I have no idea why, but she’s just so damn nice.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“So, you’re back in the UK? For good?”
“For now,” I answered. “There is an all-European event—just an indoor one. A little niche, but my coach decided to come over to put us up against some of the talent we’ll face this year.”
“So, just for now?”
“Uh… I’m back and forth. I gotta go to Florida in a bit, then back for an event in May. And then I’m in Norway and God only knows over the summer.”
The bartender passed us two pints.
“Norway?” Mary raised her eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’m Norwegian,” I answered.
She coughed. “I thought you were American.”
“My mom is half-American. My Dad is Norsk,” I said. “What, do you have a haterade for Norwegians?”
Deep down, I knew why. She was Swedish, but I couldn’t help but flirt. I settled on the fact that that, yes, I wanted this woman.
“I should,” she said. “I’m a Swede by birth, but… half Brit, so… I’ve been here a lot.”
“But I’m so cute. How could you hate me?” I giggled. “C’mon. I mean you no harm. I come in peace.”
“I suppose you’re right. Fuck! I should… I should not even… look…” she stammered. “Your friend… she’s—”
“Just my friend and teammate,” I said. “We have the same coach.”
“Good. My read on her was straight friend. Or, I suppose, I shouldn’t assume.”
“She is the straight one.”
It was the first time I implied openly that I wasn’t. A weight lifted. I was myself—wholly and without restraint. All this pent-up sense of self slowly released as I took stock of the crowd. Mary and her friends thought I belonged, so I felt like I did. Now, I itched to say it again.
“You are a baby gay aren’t you?” Mary teased.
More than you could ever know.
“I guess people my age don’t go to gay bars.”
“Oof. Make me feel old, woman!”
I giggled. “I am not. I didn’t mean to, anyhow. I just… I’m appreciating it. I see the appeal. I suppose you’re not going to get hit on by a bunch of dudes.”
“I am not you,” Mary said.
“Meaning?” I arched one brow.
“You are so femme in comparison. Men must hit on you nonstop.”
I bit my lip. “Sure. And… I don’t always mind. I’m bi. But, right now, that’s not where I am.”
Her eyes didn’t leave me. “You are exactly the type of person I should avoid, Betty.”
“Why is that?”
“Cuz bi women with red hair are my kryptonite.”
I sipped beer. “That’s pretty niche.”
“Perhaps, but I struggle to resist.”
“Well, if you’re worried about me going home with some random dude, just know I didn’t ask Leah to text AJ to fuck with you. I am here on a mission.”
As nervous as this made me, it also emboldened me. I may have still been an amateur in this world, but I couldn’t change who I was. I was always going to be Betty. I’d never come on anything but strong and hadn’t fantasized about her kiss for five years to turn back now.
“Are you sure you’re actually Norwegian?” She appraised me after drinking.
“Why would I lie about something so weird?” I giggled. “That’s fucking random.”
“It is, but your people are rarely so forward.”
“And Swedes don’t usually turn me on, but so sue me, you’re hot and I am, too. Is there a problem?”
She chuckled. “You are incredibly fit and I’m pulling way out of my league right now, darling.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Mary, but you’re… kind of a big deal,” I said, voice low.
She blushed.
I swirled the beer in my glass playfully. “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“I… I don’t even know what to say,” Mary said.
“Ta mig hem, then,” I got bold and trotted out my high school Swedish. “And you don’t have to say a damn thing.”