37. Gothenburg
Gothenburg
MARY
“Will this work?” I asked, concerned about how realistic Betty’s disguise was.
“It worked for my cousin and her husband in Copenhagen—supposedly. When they were dating, this was all they would do,” Betty said. “What? You don’t like me as a blonde?”
She pulled her long wig into a simple ponytail.
“I will always like you,” I pulled her close, “but I have a thing for bisexual redheads. I do like the fringe though.”
She gripped my hips, then slipped her hands into my back pockets. “I promise I will be a redhead later when I’m fucking you.”
Betty kissed me in a way that made my neck hair prick.
“God, I don’t want to go out now,” I groaned.
“You told me it would be fun. I want to go! This is only my second time at a bar like this.”
The plan was to hit up a local gay bar. It wasn’t a lesbian bar, but it was protective, private, and sufficiently queer.
“Is this the vibe?” Betty asked about her outfit.
“It’s casual, which you nailed. And those jeans…” I shook my head. “Damn you have the best ass.”
Betty settled a ball cap on her head and pulled her ponytail through.
“So, the whole thing isn’t too butch?”
“Would you mind if it is?” I laughed.
She shrugged.
“For the record, Bets, I don’t think there is anything you could do that would even slightly label you anything but lippy. Now, come on, princess. Let’s try not to get caught.”
Privacy was the name of the game. A queer dive bar provided us cover.
It wasn’t quite The Bookstore, but there was a varied crowd that knew to keep what happened under wraps.
If we hit the regular clubs, I gathered we would have been photographed.
By ducking out a special hotel backdoor, we avoided hubbub.
“You know you’re like a fucking secret agent, right?” I asked Betty.
“I have countless cousins and five older brothers who have done this dance,” Betty squeezed my hand. “I am good.”
We ordered drinks at the bar. A woman on the other side raised her glass to Betty. She turned to me, confused.
“Does she know me?”
I looked over and shook my head. “No. I think she wants to know you, but she doesn’t.”
Betty didn’t respond the way I expected. Instead, she leaned in and kissed me, pulling onto my jean belt loops possessively.
“What was that?” I asked.
“You’re mine. We’re together. I didn’t want that to be ambiguous.”
It was the sort of possessive I didn’t expect from her, but craved.
“You know, we don’t have to get all boxed in and quite so heteronormative, my love,” I said. “That’s the beauty of this. It doesn’t bother me if you flirt with other people. Just come home with me at the end of the night and we’re good.”
“What? Do you get off on it? I know people who do. I don’t think I’m like that, for what it’s worth. I think I would break a table if someone moved in on you. Not like in a toxic way, but… I don’t like to share when I’m in love with someone.”
“I am a serial monogamist and a walking stereotype,” I said. “You will not get any lip from me. I don’t mind other people staring, though. You’re right. It does rev my engine.”
As we finished drinking, Betty asked, “Who is the blonde?”
I answered, “I know her.”
Betty’s face lit up. “Know her how?”
I snickered, “Not like that. There aren’t that many of us here, but I do know her as a friend of a friend. She’s not even my type.”
“Why?”
“Am I the lesbian oracle?”
“I know nothing, so yes. I mean, Leah and Lourdes have tried to hand-hold me, but… I don’t like asking them since they’re the cool kids.”
“And I’m not?”
“No, you are, but you’re mine, so I am allowed to ask you all my stupid questions.”
You’re mine. The words melted me.
I cleared my throat, not trying to show how she made me swoon. “Uh… well, for starters, I’m more into femmes. I know, I know, but… you are much more my type… even if you’re much too peppy. Second, she’s a holier-than-thou gold star and that’s not my vibe, as you kids would say.”
“I am not a kid, Marit,” she insisted in Swedish.
“Oh, stop speaking Swedish,” I giggled. “You keep doing it.”
“I know it makes you want me.”
“It’s not sexy. It’s fucking adorable and melts me,” I said, kissing her. “Yeah. I’m not into that whole thing.”
“Can I ask another stupid fucking question?”
“Anytime, skatt.” I sat my beer down on the barter.
“What does gold star mean? Did she fight in combat? Because sometimes, it means like… you lost someone in action.”
“No,” I laughed. “God, no! Uh… generally it’s a lesbian who has never fucked a man and is pretty holier-than-thou about it. Since many people my age didn’t deconstruct until their twenties and thirties, it feels sort of marginalizing and gross.”
“Oh, it’s like people who swear they cannot eat normal food to maintain ketosis and are really just suffering through diet culture endlessly?”
I cocked my head. “Who the fuck are you? What does that even mean?”
“Internet fuckery. Let’s dance!”
She pulled me onto the dance floor while I tried to figure out what sort of Internet corner she’d fall into.
It never occurred to me that royals browsed online, but I supposed they did.
After all, didn’t people her age live on their phones?
I was bad enough but avoided endless scrolling to save my sanity.
We danced until a song that required actual dancing came on. Somehow, I lost Betty to a man who moved his hips in a way I couldn’t even imagine. She could properly dance and went off with him. Pure joy flooded from her. I couldn’t help but smile as she lived it up.
“Your girlfriend is adorable,” the guy who had been dancing with Betty’s new friend said.
“She is,” I agreed. “I have no idea what she sees in me.”
“Uh, sweetie, you’re famous. I know you’re famous.”
I did a double take.
“She’s cute. Don’t hide her away. She’ll be all over the tabloids.”
I immediately recoiled. “Well, that’s not really… we’re not going to court the press. I don’t do that.”
“Oh my god! Is she not out yet?”
She wasn’t—not really—but that wasn’t what bothered me. “It’s not that. I’m just a private person.”
“Respect,” he nodded. “Sorry. I guess… I have never been famous. She’s cute. A good dancer.”
“I love her,” I said. “She is just so wonderful.”
Every time I said it, things felt more real.
“Aww, you are so cute—both of you. I wish you the best. Plus, I am a terrible dancer, and my boyfriend is living for this.”
I grinned. “It’s good all around. I miss places like this. It really is a gem. I kissed a girl for the first time after getting in here with a fake ID.”
“What?” He scoffed. “That’s funny.”
“It was a million years ago. I used to be badass.”
“Queen, you still are,” he said in English. “She’s living proof. Also, I saw that set you did at that festival. It was amazing. ‘Balcony’ has exploded.”
“I’m recording it later this week,” I admitted. “It’s… not what I thought it would be. I didn’t expect it to be a live single.”
“Well, it showed all the emotion that went into it. It’s relatable.”
I smiled, feeling uplifted, as Betty and his boyfriend returned smiling.
“You had fun?” I asked.
“So much. But now, I think I’d like to take you home,” Betty said.