Chapter 2 Deborah
DEBORAH
It was an atmospheric night at the Indigo Lounge.
On the stage, a young prog-rock singer with a purple punk haircut and a looping machine was singing her torchy way through an innovative cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game.” Sapphic couples on the dimly-lit dance floor were swaying together as she sang, holding each other close and some even kissing passionately.
Conversations in the surrounding dining area were hushed, respectful to the live music.
It was a low-key, sultry evening, ripe with passionate possibilities.
Deb was oblivious to most of it. Oh, she was enjoying the music, certainly, though she would have preferred a guitar set from Mia Cortés, all things considered. She was, however, having to actively ignore the palpable air of lust hovering in the air of Downtown LA’s foremost lesbian hangout.
Morosely, she stared into the fading bubbles of her non-alcoholic beer as if they were an oracle who could tell her how to deal with her current swirling moodiness.
Foremost on her troubled mind was her epic fuck-up with the ICU patients today.
Not a fatal fuck-up, thank God, but a fuck-up nonetheless.
She hated screwing up—she especially hated screwing up in a way that caused any trouble to others. She always had.
And Deb really, really hated knowing that she’d done it with even the faintest thought of sticking it to Hayley Milton.
That spite had motivated her to, however unintentionally, overload the general floors and cause patients to miss out on care was deeply unprofessional and profoundly, painfully mortifying.
There was not a second of her working life at Oakridge that she could remember that Hayley Milton, ICU Nursing Wunderkind Extraordinaire, had not gotten on her last nerve simply by existing.
Competent, well-liked, efficient, and stubborn as a mule, Hayley seemed to do nothing based on gut feelings or intuition, sticking instead to strict protocol and procedure.
From day one, they’d butted heads whenever they’d had to work together.
Deb had to make decisions on the fly and keep her ER moving.
Hayley’s ICU didn’t operate like that, and neither did she, and it felt to Deb like the nurse was constantly looking down on her for being less methodical.
It was a recipe for disaster, two total opposites reacting in a volatile manner every time they encountered each other.
Which led neatly to Deb’s second issue, the one she really wished would go away: she had always, always found that conflict between them to be incredibly hot.
Hayley drove her nuts and there were a lot of things Deb absolutely detested about her snooty sorority girl attitude and the persistent stick up her ass.
But she was also undeniably gorgeous, a real California sun-kissed blonde with perfect tits and an unbeatable backside.
And Deb’s absolute sexual kryptonite was a gorgeous California blonde who gave her hell.
Each argument they had left her both aroused and annoyed, a state of being that Deb personally found nearly unbearable.
After their initial spat that day over the compartment syndrome patient, she’d had to suffer through triaging the rest of the semi accident patients and then the tedious and ultimately disastrous redistribution of the patients Hayley had claimed for the ICU before she could grab Rose, a trauma scrub nurse she had a friends-with-benefits thing going on with, and haul her into an on-call room for a quickie.
It had only been somewhat satisfying, and then Hayley had shown up in the ER with her blue eyes lit in a righteous fury and her controlled anger and fully taken Deb apart.
The humiliation of her mistake far outweighed the usual delicious sexual tension their encounters gave her and completely erased any lingering high from her quickie with Rose.
If she hadn’t ridden her motorcycle today, she’d be drowning her sorrows in fully alcoholic beer right now.
As it was, she was still considering getting a few and then taking an Uber home.
Esme, the owner of the Lounge, would have no issue with Deb leaving her Kawasaki parked there overnight in the name of safety.
She was still brooding into her drink when a red plastic basket filled with a greasy double decker bacon cheeseburger and spicy gochugaru fries hit her table.
Deb looked up to see Sasha Ashford sliding into the booth across from her, grinning from under her red bandana and quiff of dark curls.
“Thought I’d deliver this one personally when I saw the ticket come into the kitchen,” Sasha said, her black eyes dancing.
“You haven’t been around in a hot minute, Deb! It’s great to see you.”
Sasha was the chef at the Indigo Lounge, but Deb also knew her because they were both members of Pride Riders LA, the biggest queer motorcycle club in Los Angeles.
She thought back to the last time she’d seen Sasha and blushed to realize it had been since Pride, months ago.
“God, I hadn’t realized it had been so long, Sash. Sorry. How’s Ruby?”
“She’s great, she’s got a book deal—under her name again, finally!
And I think this one’s gonna make it so she doesn’t have to ghostwrite those Hetero Highlander romances anymore.
It’s really good.” Sasha’s pride in her partner’s accomplishments always shone from her like radiant sunlight.
“It’s a lesbian vampire romance, lots of hate and love and sexual tension over centuries.
I can’t tell you more, but I promise, it’s amazing. ”
“I believe it.” Deb smiled at her friend.
She liked Ruby Fierelli’s books, even the Hetero Highlander ones that were published under someone else’s name.
Ruby was an incredibly talented writer, and Sasha was an incredibly talented chef.
And they loved each other to a degree that made Deb, a closeted romantic, deeply envious.
She had thought she was putting a good face on her bad mood, but Sasha squinted at her in the dim Lounge light, her face concerned. “Hey, Deb, you okay?”
Deb sighed. “Bad day at work. Big semi-truck caused a pileup at Wilshire and Santa Monica. It was pretty gnarly.”
“That all?” Sasha tilted her head.
Deb let very few people into her life enough to be able to really see her.
She often bottled things up and let them fester and then explode rather than let anyone see anything from her that could be perceived as weakness.
But Sasha was possessed of similar inclinations, though a bit different—she was reticent rather than too proud, keeping her emotions in check as a way to not inconvenience others.
Still, her experience allowed her to see Deb’s self-suppression for what it was, and she was always able to see Deb clearly in that regard.
Maybe that was why Deb had really come to the Lounge this evening.
Sasha could get her to talk like no one else could, and maybe Deb needed some sage advice after the day she’d had.
She took in a deep breath and a sip of her now-flat near-beer.
“I mean, I made some bad calls today. You know how I feel about fucking up at work.”
“I do. I’m sorry that happened.” Sasha reached across and grabbed Deb’s hand in one of her strong, burn-scarred chef’s hands. “You didn’t lose anyone?”
“No. No, thank God. I’d never forgive myself if I did.
” Squeezing Sasha’s hand back, she pulled away and brushed her wild tumble of curls back away from her face.
A quick check of her pockets let her know that, much to her frustrations, she had no hair elastics.
Sasha saw her patting herself down and passed over one she had wrapped around her wrist. Deb put her hair up in a sloppy bun. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Sasha went silent, sitting and waiting patiently for Deb to continue.
Deb tried to sort through her thoughts, wondering how to broach the subject of her irritating attraction to Hayley Milton.
“Have you ever had… I mean… like, have you ever liked… no. Dammit.” She rolled her eyes at herself and her clumsy way with words.
“Listen, Sash. Have you ever wanted to just fuck someone you absolutely hated?”
The bluntness of the question clearly took Sasha aback. Literally, she sat back in the booth and stared at Deb. “Wow, no, sorry, I can’t say I have.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured.” Deb slumped back and picked at her basket of food, which had begun to cool. The spicy French fry she nibbled on was still incredibly delicious, though, as was everything Sasha made.
Sasha was blushing hard enough that Deb could see it even in the very low light of the Lounge. “So… I guess this is a problem you’re having?”
“Unfortunately.” Deb bit into her burger and ripped off a huge bite, chewing furiously. She made sure to chew and swallow thoroughly before going on, though she could clearly see that curiosity was making Sasha practically twitch in her seat. “There’s a nurse at the hospital—”
“Rose?” Sasha asked, and Deb cringed. She forgot she’d actually ever talked to Sasha about her arrangement with Rose. They really had been hooking up for a while. Maybe too long.
“No. Not Rose. A different nurse. One I don’t like.” She popped another fry into her mouth.
Sasha looked intrigued. “Does she like you?”
“Not even a little,” Deb confirmed. “Mortal enemies since day one.”
“Not mortal,” Sasha pointed out shrewdly. “Not if you want in her pants.”
“Fair enough.” She picked her burger back up and tore off another bite. “I don’t really know what to do about it. Getting involved with her would probably be a bad idea. I mean, even assuming she’s into women. I don’t actually know. She seems super straight to me.”
“Uh-huh,” Sasha said, and did her trick again where she lapsed into silence until Deb felt the urgent need to fill it. She hated that she fell for it every time. A therapist would have a field day with her. A therapist had, actually.