When Katie Met Cassidy Read online

  And that accent. It was slight but added an unmistakable sweetness to all her vowels, a preciousness that didn’t at all match up to the sleek sophistication she was trying to project.

  Cassidy detected that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, which meant she was single, or as good as single, and she looked young, probably only a year or two out of law school.

  “Ms. Price?”

  Shit.

  “Yes. Yes, I think Falcon can agree to that.” Cassidy glanced at her notes, hoping they weren’t on the page where she had drawn a big circle and written, Don’t Agree to This!

  When she looked back up, Katie Daniels was smiling, triumphant on winning this point, and there was that brightness again.

  * * *

  When they broke for the night, Cassidy waited for Katie Daniels to exit the conference room before she did. Then, briefcase in hand, Cassidy bolted down the stairs in order to already be in the main-floor lobby when Katie emerged from the elevator. Sunglasses at the ready, Cassidy trailed a safe distance behind Katie and followed her out of the building.

  Just outside, Katie stopped, so Cassidy stopped. Katie took out her phone, and Cassidy ducked behind a conveniently located modern art sculpture. Cassidy couldn’t say for sure why she was semi-stalking her opposing counsel other than that she was intrigued by her. She had the urge to watch Katie while Katie felt unobserved—not in a creepy way, though come to think of it, it was beginning to feel a little creepy.

  Katie appeared to be at a loss, like her plans had just gotten canceled. Her shoulders were slumped beneath her sharp, all-business suit jacket, and when she stopped looking at her phone like it was some foreign object that had just appeared in her hand, she simply stared into space.

  Cassidy considered ambling over and bumping into Katie by accident, saying her plans had just gotten canceled and was there any chance that Katie might want to join her for a bite to eat? But before Cassidy could do something so pathetic and professionally dicey, Katie was off, some decision made, perhaps a new plan secured.

  Accepting defeat, Cassidy hailed a cab with one hand and texted Gina with the other: Out of work. Heading home to change. Dinner before the Met?

  You buyin? Gina immediately wrote back.

  Always.

  You gonna make me eat sushi again?

  Cassidy smiled. When was the last time you ate something green?

  Dunno, day before yesterday I think. Unless you count the apple Sour Patch Kids I had for lunch.

  We’re going for sushi.

  An hour later Cassidy was sitting across from Gina, watching her pound down a plate of chicken teriyaki and ignore the seaweed salad and broccoli ohitashi she’d ordered for her.

  Gina was the closest Cassidy had to a best friend. Even though Gina was only twenty-five and had grown up in an environment as different from hers as possible, she’d felt an automatic connection to Gina when they first met at Metropolis two years ago. At the time, Gina had been new to the city, new to the bar, and Cassidy noticed her pilfering half-finished drinks that people left unattended. She was a scrappy-looking thing, knit beanie on her little peanut head, baggy jeans hanging off her ass, sneakers torn to high hell, and Cassidy thought Gina might be homeless. As an experiment Cassidy ordered a gin and tonic, took a sip, then left it on the bar. From a few feet away she watched the kid catch sight of the drink and casually mosey up to it. Right when Gina had the gin and tonic in hand, Cassidy approached.

  “Hi,” was all Cassidy said, but Gina startled.

  “Aww shit, this your drink?” Her accent was thick and Southern. “I think I mistook it for mine.”

  “No, that’s yours,” Cassidy said.

  Gina hesitated, like she was deciding whether she should bolt.

  Cassidy put out her hand. “I’m Cassidy.”

  “I know who you are,” Gina said. “Read all about you on the bathroom wall. You some kind of predator?” Gina looked up at her square in the eyes. “You set a trap to catch me with this drink? You want to fuck me you could just ask, but I’ll tell you right now you’re not my type.”

  It was in that moment that Gina won Cassidy over, and they’d been inseparable ever since. It turned out Gina wasn’t homeless, but she was a former teenage runaway out of rural Mississippi with fuckheads for parents, so Cassidy did what she could to help the kid out. She kept an eye on her, made sure she ate, had her rent paid, and went to the doctor when she was sick. In return, Gina was loyal. Cassidy trusted her as much as she could trust anyone.

  “Sure it’s safe for you to hit up the Met tonight after all the drama this weekend?” Gina asked now, without looking up from her teriyaki. “What if you-know-who shows?”

  Cassidy shrugged. “I’m not concerned.”

  “You two need to bury the hatchet already, just go back to being friends.”

  “There’s nothing to bury.” Cassidy sipped her green tea.

  “Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Gina said. “The way you cut people off is goddamn scary.”

  “Don’t ever wrong me and you won’t have to worry about it.”

  “You need therapy, C. I’m not even kidding.”

  “Eat your broccoli,” Cassidy said.

  She got a kick out of taking care of Gina. It made her feel useful, and Gina’s messed-up home life had struck a nerve. Cassidy knew well the shame and self-reproach that came with having lukewarm parents; many of their friends did. This was something Cassidy had figured out early on as she got to know the others at the Met—so many of them had fled people or places that hadn’t embraced them. But by some magic trick they all found their way here, to the city, to the bar, where they discovered one another and—suddenly—felt better about themselves. Beneath all the lesbian drama, that’s what Metropolis was really about. Finding your people and making them your family.

  After dinner it was still on the early side to hit up the Met, so Cassidy and Gina pregamed at the Up & Up, a cocktail bar on Macdougal that served Cassidy’s favorite gin and tonic in the city. By the time they exited two drinks later to the fresh September air, Cassidy was loose and energized, the stress from her day a distant memory. The last person she expected to pass before her eyes was Katie Daniels. She nearly tripped over her own Chelsea boots.

  “Whoa. Hold up.” Cassidy grabbed Gina by the hood of her sweatshirt.

  It was definitely her, Katie Daniels, looking confused and out of sorts just like she had outside the Falcon building earlier that day.

  “What’s up?” Gina said. “Who’d you see that we’re avoiding?”

  “I know her.” Cassidy nodded toward Katie, who was wearing a sexy black dress and had her blond hair free from its uptight bun.

  “The chick that looks like she got lost on the way to auditions for America’s Next Top Model?” Gina snorted. “Uh-oh.”

  “Be quiet.” Cassidy stepped forward.

  THREE

  Katie’s plan was to sit at the bar and wait for someone to hit on her. Even if it was only the bartender, it would provide just the ego boost she needed to get through the night.

  Walking along Macdougal, the first hint of September chill hit her shoulders, and she reveled in the sensation. Now, where was that wine bar again? Had she missed it? She could have sworn it was right here. She’d just pulled out her phone to try Googling it when she heard:

  “Hope you’re not checking your work email.”

  That voice. That startling female baritone.

  Katie turned around expecting the suit, the shiny oxfords, the words Falcon cannot agree to that.

  But it wasn’t her.

  Or wait.

  It was her, but she looked different somehow—more relaxed and rugged in a casual button-down, dark jeans, and leather boots, which appeared to be men’s boots. She was with a friend, an adorable little creature with tattoos and a tiny fauxhawk that cu
t across the top of her (or his?) head like a mini shark fin.

  “Cassidy Price,” Katie said.

  “You remember me.” Cassidy gave Katie a cocky smile.

  How could I not? Katie wanted to say. But she kept her mouth shut.

  “You look good,” Cassidy said, which Katie found wildly inappropriate. “You must be going someplace special.”

  “I thought I was, but I think it’s gone.”

  “You talking about the wine bar used to be here?” the little shark said in an accent that was more Mississippi than a mud pie. “It’s that luxury soap store now. They got soap in there that looks so much like a cupcake I once snuck a lick just to make sure.”

  “Huh,” Katie said.

  “Name’s Gina.” Sharkie put out her hand.

  Katie returned the handshake, trying to mind her manners in spite of Cassidy’s doing the whole aggressive-eye-contact thing she’d pulled on Katie all day long.

  “Were you meeting someone?” Cassidy asked.

  Katie knew the correct answer was yes. But why should she lie? There was nothing wrong with enjoying some alone time on a Tuesday night.

  “I just thought a nice glass of cabernet would do me good,” Katie said in the voice of her chicest self. “After a difficult day at work.”

  Cassidy let out a measured laugh. “Well, there’s certainly no cabernet to be found there.” She pointed to the iridescent storefront. “Only soap you may confuse for dessert.”

  Katie forced a smile. Could this moment get any more awkward?

  “Do you want to come out with us?” Cassidy asked.

  Yup, this could get more awkward.

  “Oh no, thanks, but I can’t,” Katie said.

  Cassidy maintained eye contact. “Why not?”

  “Because. I can’t.” Katie matched her forcefulness level to Cassidy’s.

  “You scared?” Gina said.

  Of course Katie was scared. These were not her people. Would it be a gay bar they would take her to? It had to be, right? The closest Katie had ever come to stepping foot into a gay bar was the time she accidentally went for lunch at that restaurant where all the waitresses were drag queens.

  “Come out for one drink,” Cassidy said. “On me. I feel like I owe you that much after giving you hell all morning.”

  “That’s nice of you but totally not necessary,” Katie said, trying to keep this professional.

  “Come on,” Cassidy insisted. “Look at you. You’re all dressed up; you look like you could use a little fun tonight.”

  Fun. Now, that was something Katie hadn’t experienced in its purest form in a very long time. Paul Michael had recently taken her to a gallery called Phun with a “Ph,” but that wasn’t quite the same thing.

  Still, though.

  “Maybe some other time,” Katie said. “Tonight I need some quiet time alone.”

  Cassidy looked down at her boots. “Okay then,” she said. “Nice seeing you. Till tomorrow, I guess.”

  “Later, gator,” Gina said.

  They walked away, and Katie tried to figure out her next move. She looked at her phone, and panic ensued. She didn’t actually want to be alone tonight. Fun was what she really needed. Just plain fun that was free of irony and didn’t involve getting hit on by some bartender or some other random dude. It was too soon for that. She needed fun without sexual pressure. Maybe even fun without men. And what was the worst that could happen?

  “Hey!” Katie called out to them. “Hey, wait up.”

  They turned around simultaneously.

  “One drink,” she said. “Why not?”

  Cassidy gave Gina a nudge in the arm as if to say, I told you so.

  Catching up to them, Katie asked, “Where are we going?”

  “The Met,” Cassidy said.

  “The museum?”

  That brought a cackle out of Gina. “Metropolis,” she said. “It’s a bar.”

  “Well that sounds generic enough,” Katie said, somewhat relieved.

  “What were you expecting?” Gina asked. “The Clit Club? Panty Hoes?”

  Cassidy cracked up then—the first time Katie had ever heard a genuine laugh out of her, which she assumed meant Gina was messing with her.

  “Tonight’s Metropolis’s Tuesday-night party,” Cassidy said. “It’s called Cunt Power.”

  “Oh,” Katie said, unsure if she was messing with her now.

  * * *

  The moment Katie stepped into Metropolis—the Met—she noticed the soles of her Dior heels were sticking to the floor. She hadn’t experienced a sticky barroom floor in years, and she hadn’t missed it. The second thing she noticed was everyone else noticing her. Katie filed in just behind Cassidy, and she could almost hear the record scratch as everyone’s attention turned toward them.

  Was that her imagination?

  First sight of the place was not what she was expecting. She thought it would be a little frightening and intimidating, that the faces turning to her might look downright angry, hard in the eyes, tight around the mouth. Muscle shirts, military buzz cuts, that sort of thing. But it wasn’t like that at all. Plenty of these women looked like women—she spied a few other dresses in the crowd—and the ones who didn’t look like women looked like boys. Not men. It was hard to be intimidated by a five-foot-two college kid wearing a flannel from Gap Kids.

  The room was dimly lit, painted red. It smelled a little bit like cheese, but there was no cheese in sight. To the left of the entrance was the bar, lined with vinyl stools, where girls of all sizes and colors were crowding in on one another, waving cash at the bartender, who had a pink streak in her hair. Some of these girls had choppy asymmetrical haircuts and pierced noses; some were in short-shorts with tube socks pulled up to their knees. Many of them had forgotten to put on a bra before leaving the house. The girls who looked like boys wore skinny neckties or faded T-shirts with jeans that hung low off their hips. A few of them reminded Katie of Justin Bieber before he grew muscles.

  “I think I’m a little overdressed for this place,” Katie said to Cassidy over the music—which she was pretty sure was Joan Jett, circa 1981.

  “You’re dressed just right,” Cassidy said. “Trust me.”

  “Yeah,” said Gina. “There’s a scarcity of femmes around here in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I don’t even really know what that means,” Katie said. “But I sense you aren’t talking about film noir.”

  “Girly-girls,” Gina said. “Lipstick lesbians.”

  “I’m not a femme,” Katie said.

  “You sure as hell ain’t butch,” Gina replied.

  “No,” Katie said. “Of course not.” She wanted to elaborate further, to explain how she was neither, that she was just a normal, regular girl and that coming here was purely circumstantial. But before she had the chance, Cassidy took her by the hand and led her through the crowd toward the condensed group jostling for the bartender’s attention.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Cassidy asked.

  Katie hesitated, and Cassidy added, “You don’t want the cabernet. Trust me.”

  “Wild Turkey then,” she said. “Neat.”

  Cassidy blinked her long dark eyelashes at Katie, quiet for a second. Then she said, “Huh.”

  “What does ‘huh’ mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What? Were you expecting me to order something a little more weak?”

  “No,” Cassidy said. “A little more pink.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Whoa.” Gina smacked Cassidy on the back. “That came even sooner in the night than I expected.”

  “Really?” Katie peered down at Gina, gripping her hands to her hips. “Because I’ve been wanting to tell her to fuck off since around nine thirty this morning.” It occurred to Katie then that she’d alrea
dy had a good amount of Wild Turkey at her apartment, or she wouldn’t have come out and said something so rudely honest. One more drink was definitely all she could handle.

  Gina did an about-face. “I’m gonna go get on the pool table list.”

  Katie went to follow behind her, but Gina zipped through the crowd so fast she immediately lost track of her, so instead Katie stayed put, waiting for Cassidy to wrangle their drinks.

  Katie tried to look like she belonged in the space she was occupying, to not stare at anyone, but she’d never experienced a place like this before. Just off to her right two girls were making out so aggressively she was afraid one of them might lose a tongue. They were both wearing blue hoodies and Converse sneakers, and both had short bleached-blond hair. In fact, they could have passed for twin gender-neutral siblings if Katie hadn’t known better. This baffled her, because if this world was supposedly made up of femmes and butches, what were these two? And was this sort of hooking up with your own doppelgänger frowned upon or championed?

  While Katie was pondering this, a woman approached her. She herself didn’t blend; she was older than the mostly twentysomething crowd by a solid decade and style-wise was dressed more for, say, hitting up a golf tournament than a night of cruising for girls. She was wearing a black fleece jacket that was zipped all the way up and pleated khaki shorts that hit just above her knees. She might have had a perm; Katie couldn’t really tell because she was also wearing a white ball cap with mirrored Oakley sunglasses resting on top of the cap’s bill.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” the woman asked.

  Oh god.

  “Thanks, but my friend is getting me one.” Katie pointed toward the bar, hoping to divert this person’s attention, but instead she continued staring directly into Katie’s eyes.