Chapter Fifteen
Kate
What’s Love Got to Do With It by Tina Turner
“So, does anybody have any questions for AJ?”
I throw my hand up as fast as I can.
“Yes,” Martin points his microphone at me. He really has no clue how to use that thing, so when I stand and step closer to the desk, I reach out and take it from him.
“Hi AJ,” I say into it. “It goes without saying, I’m a huge fan.”
“Let me just stop you,” AJ interrupts. “Has everybody seen you?”
“Probably,” I shrug and feel the heat of one hundred eyes on my back. “I mean, we are the only ones dressed up as your characters.”
“And you both look fucking fantastic,” AJ declares. “I don’t think there’s a better compliment as a comic book creator than to have somebody do this, to want to be your characters.”
“Well, we’re big fans,” I explain before giving Sharon a quick glance on my right. Just below her mask I can see her cheeks are blushing furiously and her eyes are skittish, like she doesn’t know where to look. “Thank you for creating characters that… spoke to us.”
While I feel that I’ve found out more about Sharon this evening, I certainly don’t know how comfortable she is sharing her sexuality with others and so I’m not about to tell even AJ Ripley the real reason his comic speaks to us.
Because we’re queer women who never see ourselves represented in media, least of all our beloved comic books.
“You’re welcome. Now, what’s your question?”
“You mentioned earlier about Lady Phantom and the Director, about there being an attraction. Could you elaborate more on that for me?”
AJ smiles as I hand over the microphone to Martin and sit down again. “You know, I could,” he says, holding my eye contact. “But I’m not going to.”
My chest sinks and more disappointment than I expected rushes through me.
“Not because there isn’t anything to tell, but because that is a story I want to tell in the comics, not anywhere else.”
“So there is a story?” I raise my voice to ask. Sharon tenses next to me, like she has many times during the last hour or so.
“Oh, yes.” AJ gives me a crafty smile. “There absolutely is a story to tell. But it’s not going to be straightforward or simple. Because where’s the fun in that?”
I open my mouth to ask another question, to find out more, because I feel so thoroughly unsatisfied, but Martin has already found somebody else who wants to ask a question and he’s moving off the stage towards them.
My lips close just as Sharon leans against me so she can whisper in my ear. “I guess we’ll just have to keep reading,” she says. “But at least we know your theory was correct.”
I don’t know if she says it to reassure me and to ease some of my disappointment away, but it works.
“I really do need get that T-shirt made.” I lean some of my weight against her arm. “That’s twice in one night you’ve said I’m right.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she says before straightening up and I search her face to see if her expression matches the scolding tone of her voice.
I’m more pleased than I should be when I notice it doesn’t; she’s smiling thoughtfully and her honey eyes shine, framed by the mask I made for her that – much to my delight – she’s kept on the whole time.
A number of other attendees ask more questions and I listen dutifully, but the whole time my brain is wondering all the different ways Lady Phantom and the Director could get together, and when. When will it happen? How long will we have to wait?
My thoughts keep me so busy that it’s a shock when people start to move around me. I look around and see a small queue form to the side of the stage.
“What’s happening?” I ask Sharon.
“He’s going to sign our comics,” she explains, as one of her hands dives into the inside pocket of her suit jacket. “Did you not bring one?”
It’s my stomach that sinks this time. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t even think he would do that.”
“I mean, it wasn’t in the ads but I was hoping. It’s also why I brought a few extra copies.” She pulls out a roll of comics and, after unravelling them, hands one to me. “Here.”
“Oh, thanks.” I take the comic which is still curled and still very warm from being pressed up against Sharon’s body. I flatten my hand against it to absorb as much heat as I can.
We join the queue, which is not as long as I expect with many people already leaving and others heading to the bar for more drinks.
“You don’t seem happy about what he said about their… romance,” Sharon says.
“Well, he didn’t tell us any more than what I already knew,” I explain.
“He sort of did,” Sharon points out. “He confirmed what you suspected. And said that it’s coming.”
“But what’s coming? Is he going to make them fall in love? Have a meaningless quickie? Will they end up together? I still have so many questions.”
“He’s still got to sell the comics,” Sharon points out with the briefest of tuts that I choose to ignore.
I chew on my lip as I think. “Maybe he doesn’t know how it’s going to work out. Maybe he hasn’t decided yet.”
“Maybe,” Sharon agrees. “And that’s okay.”
“I don’t understand how you’re not as eager as I am to see them together.” I fold my arms. “We don’t get stories like this every day.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Sharon says with an affirmative sniff that I realise punctuates the end of her statement.
“What do you mean?” I demand.
“We’re not… we go against the status quo.”
“We?”
“Queer people.” She flinches when she says the word queer. I don’t like that, but it’s a battle for another day.
“Fuck the status quo,” I mutter bitterly. “That’s exactly why we need these stories. We need to be seen in order to be believed and respected and validated.”
“I disagree,” Sharon shakes her head. “Look what happens when we’re visible.”
“What do you mean?”
“AIDS,” Sharon practically hisses like it’s a dirty word, which I suppose, to her, it is. “AIDS has thrust gay and bisexual men into the limelight and all they’ve received in return is hate. I’d rather hide than be hated.”
I open my mouth to argue with her, but then I notice her tense jaw, her eyes that refuse to stay on mine. I see it then. Fear. Sharon is scared. I know exactly how that feels.
“So,” I say, “where are you going to take me for dinner?”
I don’t know if it’s the change of topic or the topic itself, but Sharon’s head swings towards me.
“Dinner?”
“You won our bet. He’s a butch lesbian.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, we can grab something after this, if you want? Or we could do it another time? I’m not always free in the evenings but as it happens I’m about to start a week of earlies so—”
“You want to go for dinner with me?”
“Sure,” I say. When she doesn’t reply, I narrow my eyes on her, even though she’s still not turned to look right at me. “Do you not want to have dinner with me?”
Did I get this all wrong? Did I imagine how we had a bonding conversation outside before we took our seats?
Did I wrongly interpret our dressing like this together as something we could talk about in the future, a shared experience?
Has Sharon been suffering my company this evening?
Has she just been putting up with me so that she could get a ticket to see AJ Ripley?
“It’s not…” She swallows and then finally turns her head. “I’m really tired. I think I just want to go home after this. I want to get up early and go to Chinatown before I see Danny. I’ve been reading about these mushrooms you can buy and—”
“It’s fine,” I snap, and something shifts in my body. It’s like I’m back in my uniform, my hair pulled tightly back into a chignon, and I fight the urge to wipe my lipstick off with the back of my hand.
“No, I…” Sharon stutters, but then it’s our turn to step up and get our comic books signed.
“Here they are,” AJ greets us warmly, “my favourite couple!”
“Oh, we’re not a couple,” Sharon stammers.
“You’re not? Don’t break my heart like that!” AJ puts a hand to his chest and feigns pain with a deep frown. “Just friends then?”
“Barely,” I reply with more bitterness than even I expected.
AJ’s eyes ping-pong between us and his frown is now very genuine. “Well, your outfits have still made my evening. Did you both make them?”
“Kate did,” Sharon says, gesturing to me. “She’s the one with all the talent.”
It isn’t an apology, I know that much. But it sounds like it could be a very distant relative.
I feel my shoulders drop and my jaw loosen itself a little.
“It really is a talent,” AJ acknowledges and he holds out his hand. Sharon gives him the comic book she was holding. “Who am I signing this for?”
“Sharon, please.”
“On the front cover okay?”
“Yes. Please. This is a duplicate copy of this edition so you can write wherever you want.”
“Got it.”
I watch him scribble more than a few words I can’t read from this angle before his pen does bigger gestures, leaving a full A and looping J on the bottom of the page. He hands the comic book back to Sharon, who takes one look at it and then rolls it up immediately.
“Thank you,” she says and she’s blushing again.
“And Lady Phantom!”
Sharon shuffles out of the way so I can step up to the desk. “Hi,” I say and I hand over my comic book. “To Kate, please.”
AJ’s pen is poised but before he starts to write, he drops it and looks up at me. “You know, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the answers you were looking for. About Lady and TD.”
Lady and TD. I like that. I also like how it feels like AJ has just shared a secret with me by giving me those nicknames.
“It’s okay.” I feel Sharon’s beady eyes stare into the back of my head, and perhaps rightly so. I wasn’t exactly acting like it was okay. “I would just love to see two kickass queer women get together in a comic book, that’s all.”
“Hmm,” AJ picks up his pen again. “What is it they say? Good things come to those who wait?”
“Or to those who stand up and demand them?” I offer instead and make sure my voice is raised enough for Sharon to hear every word.
AJ gives me a pointed look. “Yes, that too.”
He writes on the cover of my comic book quickly and efficiently, taking up most of the front page, before signing off with those oversized letters. He then rolls it up before handing it over to me.
Then he astonishes me by asking, “Could I get a photo of you both? With me? I think the comic book shop would like one too.”
I look at Sharon whose eyes are wide and alarmed behind the mask. I’m about to tell her that it’s okay, I will refuse on our behalf, but she sucks in a deep breath, squares her shoulders and nods.
“Of course,” I reply.
“Martin! Camera!” AJ calls behind him and Martin dutifully appears a moment later with a chunky camera in his hand.
We all shuffle onto the stage, and AJ suggests I stand in the middle. He then stands on my left, and Sharon moves in on my right.
“Get closer,” Martin calls out once he’s in position in the now-vacated second row.
Both AJ and Sharon shuffle closer to me and it’s impossible not to notice how much more warmth Sharon’s body seems to emit. I’m so much more aware of her than I am of AJ
“And smile,” Martin says and I do. Because regardless of what’s happening with Sharon – or not, as the case may be – this is a moment I’ve been waiting for.
I’m standing next to AJ Ripley, the creator of my favourite comic book, and he’s praised my outfit and signed an edition for me, and it doesn’t matter if nobody at work or in my limited social circle will understand it. This moment matters. It matters to me.
*****
It’s cold and dark when we finally step out of the comic book shop. I’m regretting not bringing a warmer coat, but I know once I get walking, I’ll soon warm up.
Except when Sharon and I do find ourselves standing on Shaftesbury Avenue, our faces lit up by the streetlights overhead and the headlights of passing cars and buses, neither one of us makes a move to go.
We stand opposite each other and don’t say anything.
My comic book is still rolled up in my hand, but the words AJ wrote haven’t stopped dancing around my head since I read them.
Sharon’s own comic is tucked away again, back in her inside pocket, and I have no idea what her message says, but I’m not about to ask.
We’ve barely said more than five words to each other since I discovered Sharon doesn’t want to go for dinner with me.
It’s not like I meant it as a date, or anything other than us grabbing a burger or a pizza after this event, and yet I can’t deny the sting I feel at her saying she didn’t want to do it. It’s a sting I haven’t felt in a while, but again, I recognise it well. Rejection.
“Thank you for giving me your spare ticket,” Sharon says. “I would like to pay you for it…”
“Please,” I tsk. “Don’t insult me.”
“Fine,” Sharon looks at her feet, the same way she did at the beginning of the night.
“Listen,” I say. “I didn’t mean anything by the whole dinner thing.”
“What?” She looks up.
“When I said about us going out for dinner. I wasn’t suggesting that we should go on a date. I am not the kind of queer woman who meets a lesbian and just assumes she wants to date me.”
Sharon’s mouth hangs open. “That’s not what I—”
“Because I think it’s quite clear that we’re not exactly compatible.”
That seems to snap Sharon’s brain back into action. “No, we’re not,” she agrees.
“So just forget it?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Fine. Good. Great,” I nod my head with each word. “Because I suppose we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the coming weeks.”
I regret the words as soon as they’ve flown out of my mouth. And that’s exactly what they seem to do. They flap their wings, once, twice, and then nosedive, soaring straight for Sharon’s ears. Her face falls.
“Because of Danny,” she says simply.
“Yeah, because of Danny,” I say as softly as I can.
She looks down at her feet again for a couple of seconds and my ears are filled with the hustle and bustle of London’s Saturday night traffic and partygoers who jostle past us on the pavement.
When Sharon looks up again, she brings a hand to her face and removes the mask she’s been wearing all night. When it drops, her eyes are cool and steely with a new resolve. Or perhaps a new determination.
“Here you go,” she says, holding out the mask.
“No,” I say, unexpectedly horrified. “Please keep it.”
She opens her mouth to argue – I know that for certain because of how many times it’s happened before – but then she clamps her lips shut and tucks the mask in her pocket.
“Well, thank you,” she says.
“How are you getting home?”
“The bus. Number 94 from Piccadilly Circus.” She nods down the street.
“Oh, I was heading that way too.”
“Okay,” Sharon says, sounding less than pleased about it, and then turns on her heels and starts walking down the street at a pace that I’m not sure I’m supposed to even try and keep up with.